


Stuck on You

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Cas Thinks Dean is Straight, Childhood Friends, Cottage Country, Growing Up Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Reunions, openly bi dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: Castiel’s favourite memories are of childhood summers spent at his Aunt Amara’s cottage in the small town of Angel Lake, until a falling out between his father and his aunt put a stop to the visits. So, when the opportunity arises to move there and take over from a local beekeeper, he jumps at the chance. He’s even more pleased to discover that Dean, his childhood friend and first crush, is still in town and eager to resume their friendship, even after Cas comes out to him. It’s a pity Dean is straight. Dean’s as attractive as ever, but while he tries to be supportive, it’s clear to Cas that a part of him is still uncomfortable with Cas’s sexuality.Dean’s life didn’t end up where he expected, but he loves it in Angel Lake. He’s thrilled when Cas comes back, this time for good. It’s too bad that Cas just politely ignores Dean’s attempts at flirtation. Just because Cas was Dean’s bi awakening, it doesn’t mean he wants to tie himself to Dean in return.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Side Pairing: Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Side pairing: Amara/Cain (Supernatural), Side pairing: Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, past Castiel/Others - Relationship, past Dean winchester/others
Comments: 191
Kudos: 559
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Dean Cas Big Bang 2020. Many thanks to the mods for running this wonderful challenge. I was thrilled to be paired with [Finniigan](https://finniigan.tumblr.com/), who created the gorgeous art embedded in this fic. Make sure you go leave some love on the [Art Masterpost](https://finniigan.tumblr.com/post/633206181908955136/my-art-for-the-dcbb-fic-stuck-on-you-by-the)! 
> 
> Many thanks go to [Superhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney) for providing me with so many wonderful AU-Canada prompts, including the one that sparked this story, as well as for suggesting the title. I also owe lots of thanks to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses) for being a wonderful alpha, beta, friend, and cheerleader. Finally, thank you to my husband, [FictoryIsMine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictoryismine/pseuds/fictoryismine), for sharing the place Angel Lake is based on with me.

/>

**Dean**

“It’s hotter than hell in here,” Dean grumbled, swiping an arm over his forehead to wipe away the beading sweat. Outside, snowy days had given way to a wet, cold thaw and nights still fell below zero, but inside the rough little cabin the air was thick with sweet-smelling steam as maple sap boiled away in the evaporator.

“Hell doesn’t smell this good,” his neighbour Cain remarked, lifting the wooden paddle to skim some gathering foam off the top. 

“You speak the truth.” Dean uncapped the small bottle of defoamer and added a couple drops, just enough to smooth the surface without making the resultant product taste oily. He eyed the slowly darkening golden liquid. Soon it would be ready to move to a flat pan to finish off the syrup, before filtering it and decanting it into bottles—liquid gold.

Dean’s humble little sugar shack had nothing on the big commercial establishments or the touristy ones that offered tours and _tire-d’erable_ —maple syrup taffy—to families and elementary school classes, but he produced enough to keep himself and all his family and friends in syrup and still bring in some extra cash at the nearby farmers’ market when the summer rolled around.

Most of the year, Dean worked from home as a coder—and paid through the nose to get good internet out in the boonies—but every March, when the sap started flowing, he tramped out into the bush that covered most of his property to tap the maples. In theory, it was a one-man operation, but inevitably, Cain, whose bee farm bordered Dean’s land, and Dean’s friends Jody and Donna, came to help out, refusing payment except in the form of gallon jugs of maple syrup. 

His mom, Mary, who lived in an in-law suite since Dean had bought the property from her, sometimes helped with the tapping of the trees, but was barred from the sugar shack itself since the year she’d burnt a good thousand dollars worth of syrup. She wasn’t much better in an actual kitchen.

Today, Jody and Donna were both busy at their actual jobs, so it was just Dean and his older neighbour, but they were making good progress. 

“Got something to tell you,” Cain remarked as they watched the sticky, sweet liquid bubble gently. 

“Hm?” Dean pushed the sleeves of his flannel shirt up past his elbows, baring his forearms.

“I’ve decided to sell my place.”

“What, really?” Cain had been a fixture next door all Dean's life.

Cain raised a bushy eyebrow. “I think it’s time. I’ve got a lady-friend with a place down in Kingston. I’m going to move in with her, pass the place along to someone younger.” 

“I never knew you were seeing anyone. Must be serious, if you’re moving in together.” When Dean had been a child, Cain had been married, but his wife, Collette, had passed away from breast cancer before Dean had reached double digits. He’d always thought of the older man as a sort of recluse, but evidently there were hidden depths.

“I can tell when you’re fishing,” Cain replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You know her. It’s Amara DeCoeur.”

Dean whistled, impressed. A professor at Queen’s, with a trust fund to boot, there had always been something about Amara DeCoeur that seemed too glamorous for their little town. But nevertheless, she came back summer after summer to the large, chalet-style cottage just around the small bay that Dean’s home overlooked. Dean had known that Cain took care of the winter upkeep on the cottage, but hadn’t realized there was anything else going on there.

The cottage was one of the nicest in the area, if too large for one woman in her sixties. It was surrounded by trees on three sides, all gleaming wood and large picture windows that reflected the sunsets over Angel Lake. When Dean was a kid, it was always full in the summers—Amara’s brother Chuck had a large family, and he and his wife would drop the children off with their aunt to run wild, coming up from Richmond on the weekends to join them. Dean had been especially close with the youngest son—Cas, a boy his own age. He had fond memories of splash fights in the lake, roasting marshmallows over a bonfire, and spending long afternoons together tramping through the back fields.

The visits had ended abruptly the summer Dean was sixteen, the result of some sort of falling out between Amara and Chuck that was never explained. One night, indistinct shouting had echoed across the narrow bay, and without even waiting for morning, Chuck and Naomi had piled their family into their minivan and driven off. Cas had never come back.

After that, Amara mostly came down for the summers alone, barring the occasional girls’ weekend, when she and her friends would get wine-drunk and flirt with the young men renting nearby cottages, the sound of their loud laughter over the lake weaving itself into the familiar background of Dean’s life.

Dean wondered what had become of his friend.

*****

**Age 4 - Dean**

_Dean didn’t really remember meeting Cas. By the time he was old enough to be properly aware, the DeCoeur brood had been regular summertime features for years, and it had been long since someone had plopped two chubby toddlers down next to each other to make friends._

_The earliest proper memory Dean had of Cas must have been from when he was about four, because Sammy hadn’t been in the picture yet. Dean remembered his mom holding his hand to cross the narrow dirt road, even though there were rarely any cars. Once they got to the other side, she let him go so he could race on ahead to the little patch of sandy beach that Amara maintained in front of her cottage. Cas had already been there, sitting with legs splayed, as he studiously packed damp sand into a multitude of colourful plastic pails. His dark head had been bent over his work, and the tip of his tongue poked out as he concentrated._

_“Cas!” Dean had shouted, barrelling down the slope towards him, limbs flailing every which way. ‘My little bull in a china shop,’ his mom called him, always with an affectionate ruffle of his hair. “Whatcha doing?”_

_He was rewarded by Cas’s head snapping upwards and a smile lighting his face like a sunbeam. Dean skidded to a halt, plopping onto his bottom beside Cas._

_“Hello, Dean.” There was something about the way Cas said his name that Dean liked, something shy and pleased that made him feel ten feet tall, like he could wrestle monsters and win. “I’m building a castle for the bees. You can help if you want.”_

_“I want,” Dean decided, reaching for a plastic shovel. “I’m gonna build them a moat.”_

_While Cas’s older brothers splashed in the greenish water of the lake, the boys worked studiously, as their castle grew taller and taller and more impressive. Dean showed Cas how to stick a fistful of sand into the water and then drizzle it out slowly to make spires, and Cas found a fallen blue-jay feather and stuck it into the top of the central tower, just as his aunt appeared leading two-year-old Hannah by the hand._

_“Boys,” she called. “Lunch is ready.” Up on the lawn, Mary was distributing hot dogs and potato salad onto plates._

_From the lake, Gabriel and Michael appeared, dripping water. Michael headed straight for his towel while Gabriel shook himself like a dog._

_“Look out!” Cas jumped to his feet to defend the castle from stray droplets._

_“Hey, what’s that?” Gabe tried to peer around his brother._

_“It’s a castle,” Dean retorted with a roll of his eyes._

_“For the bees,” Cas added._

_“Cool,” Gabe said, while Michael snorted. At nine, Michael thought he knew everything, and Dean didn’t like the way he made Cas frown._

_“Stupid,” Michael pronounced, with all the gravity of his advanced age. “Bees don’t live in castles.”_

_Cas’s face fell. That wasn’t acceptable at all, Dean decided._

_Dean screwed up his face. “_ You’re _stupid,” he declared loudly, ignoring his mom’s sharp scold of, “_ Dean Winchester _.”_

_“If bees don’t live in castles, how come they have a queen, huh?” Dean stuck out his tongue. “C’mon, Cas. I want lunch.” With his head held high, he took his friend’s hand and marched them both towards the picnic table, leaving Michael trailing behind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Castiel's family, like many other English-speaking Canadians (including me!) has a French last name with a badly anglicized pronunciation. I chose the name DeCoeur, as Coeur means Heart (aka, that thing Cas has too much of).


	2. Chapter 2

**Cas**

It was amazing—and a little depressing—how much of his life he could fit into his little blue sedan, Castiel DeCoeur thought, surveying the boxes that were crammed into the back seat. There were more in the trunk, along with duffle bags of clothes and linens. He’d sold all but one of his suits, hanging now in a garment bag behind the driver’s seat, and most of his furniture, except what he had passed along to Meg—the house would come furnished, Cain Mullen not needing any of it to move in with Cas’s Aunt Amara.

“Here ya go, Clarence.” Meg emerged from the side door that led to Castiel’s basement apartment, carrying a box of books. “Last one.”

“Thanks.” Cas accepted the box, heavy for its size, and crammed it into the footwell. “Let’s make a last sweep of the place before I turn in the key.”

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Meg asked, as they made their way back up the flagstone path.

“You could come with me,” Castiel countered.

Meg scoffed a laugh. “No thank you. They call it the Lost Highway for a reason.” 

“It’s a beautiful place,” Cas argued, pushing the door open and making a circuit of the empty living room, making sure there was nothing left tucked into any corners or on the high windowsill. “I spent all my summers there, growing up.”

“I know.” Meg preceded him into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door and checking inside, while Castiel looked into the cupboards. “You got drunk once during first year and told me all about your ickle summer boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Cas muttered to the inside of the empty cupboard. “I wasn’t even out then.” Truth be told, the one bit of trepidation he was feeling—which he would never reveal to Meg—was about being out in Angel Lake now; it  _ was  _ a small town, after all.

“Awww, I’m just teasing. Untwist your knickers. And don’t take it too hard,” Meg drawled. “I’m just a city girl at heart. You’re not. This move’ll be good for you. And I’ll come up during the summer, make a real vacation out of it. Beats paying Crowley for his sketchy place in Wasaga.”

“I’m surprised he’d rent to you at all, after last time,” Cas remarked, giving her a sardonic look.

Meg merely smirked. “There is that.”

Cas shook his head. “You’re shameless.”

“And you’ll always be my unicorn. Even if you  _ are _ going to turn into a weird hermit in the woods.” By now, they had moved through the bedroom and onto the bathroom. Finding the cupboards under the sink empty, Meg straightened up and flicked off the light. “Come on, then. I’ve got something for you in my car before you go.”

Cas followed her out of the bare apartment where he had lived since his university days, shutting off the lights one-by-one. He locked the door behind him, and made a detour to return the key to his landlord in the upper part of the house.

Meg was waiting by his vehicle when he returned, something hidden behind her back.

“Here.” She thrust it forward, and Cas accepted the pot into his arms. “Something to remember me by.” He glanced down, taking in the prickly cactus, and up into her scowling face.

“They do have internet in the woods these days. I will stay in touch. But I’ll miss you, too.” He shifted the cactus into one arm to open the passenger side door, and carefully settled the plant into the front seat where he could keep an eye on it and keep it from tipping over.

Shutting the car door, he turned to Meg, the two of them staring at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Other than one drunken night in university when they’d been feeling experimental, they had never been big on physical affection with each other. Come to think of it, that might have been the same night he’d confessed to her about his teenage crush on Dean. 

Finally, Meg made the first move, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

“Who am I going to tell, the trees?” But given permission, Cas hugged his best friend back before climbing into his car and setting out towards his new life.

*****

**Age 8 - Cas**

_ "Bye, Mom. Cas and I are going swimming." Dean's voice floated out to the porch where Cas stood waiting in his bright orange swim trunks, a rolled-up towel slung over his shoulder. It was followed by the slamming of the screen door behind the boy himself.  _

_ Dean's trunks were black with a bright yellow Batman logo (Castiel knew about Batman, because Dean taught him last summer). He wore his towel tied over his shoulders like a cape. "C'mon, Cas. Let's go." _

_ Dean bounded down the wooden steps, but had barely touched the ground before Mary Winchester appeared, a plastic bottle in one hand. "Not without putting on sunscreen, you're not. Come here." _

_ "Aw, c'mon, Mom. I can do it myself," Dean argued, far too old at eight to want to be fussed over by his mother.  _

_ "Let's see it, then." Mary uncapped the bottle and squeezed a generous amount of white, coconut-smelling goop into Dean's hand, which he began slathering onto himself, then turned to Cas. "Cas, do you need sunscreen?" _

_ "Yes please." It was the first non-rainy day since Cas's parents had dropped him off, and in his excitement at finally getting to go swimming, he'd completely forgotten. He hated the oily feeling and the sting when he inevitably got the lotion in his eyes, but last year he'd gone without and ended up red and sore—and later flaking and itchy—and he didn't want to repeat the experience. _

_ Mary squeezed a good amount into his palm, and Cas dutifully began applying it, in a much more methodical fashion than Dean, starting at his shoulders and working his way down. Dean caught his eye and made a face and Castiel made a face of his own back, before the two boys dissolved into giggles. _

_ Mary shook her head fondly. "Don't forget your backs. Do you need my help?" _

_ "I can do Cas's back. Turn around, Cas."  _

_ Cas obeyed. "Okay, then," he heard and then moments later there was a cold sensation as Dean squeezed the lotion directly onto his back, where it promptly began sliding down his spine. _

_ "Oops," Dean said in a way that suggested he wasn't really sorry at all, and then his hands were there, rubbing in the lotion. "I used way too much. You look like a ghost." _

_ "Better a ghost than a lobster," Mary said. "You make sure Cas gets your back, too. And take the bottle with you. You need to reapply when you're done in the water." _

_ "Yes, Mom," Dean sighed, and, "Yes, Mrs. Winchester," Cas agreed, taking his turn to get Dean's back with the sunscreen. _

_ "Good. Have fun, boys." _

_ “We will!” And then before Cas could finish rubbing in the last of the white residue, Dean was bounding down to the beach, Cas trailing behind him. Dean dumped his towel and the sunscreen on the sand, and then detoured to pound down the length of the small wooden pier that jutted out into the lake. “Cannonball!” he shouted as he reached the end, tucking his legs in tight to his chest as he jumped, hitting the water with a resounding splash, soaking Cas from head to toe. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he taunted. _

_ “Yeah, yeah.” Cas, his own towel left behind on the beach, gathered up speed as he raced down the sun-heated wood. At the last moment, he jumped, getting way more air than Dean, and tucked himself into a ball, crashing down into the cool, greenish water with a sound like a thunderclap. _

_ He resurfaced, shaking the water from his shaggy, dark hair. “Take that.” _

_ Dean leapt at him, and they began to wrestle. _

_ Later, worn out and lying on their beach towels side by side, watching the clouds, Castiel remarked on something he’d noticed. “Your dad hasn’t been home in a few days.” John Winchester had been there to greet Cas’s family when they’d first arrived, but through the rainy days he’d spent in Dean’s living room since, Cas hadn’t seen or heard him anywhere. _

_ “That’s ‘cause he’s working,” Dean said, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s a trucker. He used to just drive around here, but now he gets to go everywhere. All over the country.” _

_ “Does he get to go to Banff?” Cas asked. His family had flown there last Christmas, and while Cas didn't care much for skiing, he'd been in quiet awe of the snow-capped mountains. _

_ Dean bit his lip. “I don’t know. I can ask him when he comes home. He got to see dinosaur bones, though, and the Calgary Stampede. And I’m gonna go, too, when I’m old enough. Just drive all around forever. Wouldn’t it be so cool?” _

_ Cas, who wished he could stay in Angel Lake forever, wasn’t so sure, but he knew what Dean wanted to hear, so he answered, “It would be the coolest.” _

*****

**Cas**

Cas could have saved himself some driving time if he’d stuck to the 401 as far as Napanee, but it was with relief that he pulled off the monstrous highway once he reached the suburbs of Durham region. He preferred to take the back roads as far as he could, the better to enjoy the sight of green leaves and blooming fruit trees as he passed by farms and small towns. 

In Enniskillen, he pulled in at the General Store, and spent a few minutes perusing through the knick-knacks and driftwood-looking signs with slogans like “It’s better by the lake” and “Cottage Rules: No Shirt, No Shoes, No Cell Phones.” He lingered over a display of local honey, but shook his head at himself; soon he would be producing honey all his own. He settled instead on a package of six gooey, fresh-baked butter tarts, and lined up for the real attraction: the long freezers, filled with Kawartha Dairy ice cream in every flavour he could want.

He emerged with a massive cone—he’d forgotten that there was nothing babyish about the Baby size—and leaned against the side of his car to eat it. The sun was bright and the air was hot, though not uncomfortably so, somewhere in the mid-twenties, if he had to guess. It was hard to believe that it had snowed just a few weeks ago, but it felt like summer already, and for once, Cas wasn’t going to spend it in the hot, smelly, crowded city. It was a good feeling.

It was with optimism that he got back on the road. This was the change Castiel had needed. Sure, his brother Gabriel had cautioned him not to let nostalgia colour his view, but summers at Angel Lake had been the happiest part of Cas’s life, and whatever changes the years might have brought, he was determined that that magic would still be there.

As he drove, Cas made note of the things that were still the same—the Trading Post done up as an Old West town, the Reptile Zoo where his mother had never let them stop, the ever-present blueberry pie stands. But as he approached the stretch that was dubbed the Lost Highway, Cas saw things that had changed, too. Here, a motel stood long vacant; there, the restaurant where they’d always stopped for fries—the one where his Aunt Amara had told him they used to keep a bear in a cage to thrill the children back in the ‘sixties—was shuttered. Old gas stations stood eerily silent, the signs gone and the pumps rusted to oblivion. 

Even in Castiel’s childhood, this area had been past its heyday as a summer destination, but it seemed now that time had truly caught up to it. And yet, there was still something that spoke to him, welcomed him, something that felt like home.

At the Marmora Mines, he pulled over, and walked the short distance to the overlook that looked down into the old mine, now a large, still basin. There was a chain-link fence now, presumably to protect viewers from toppling over the edge—and to keep miscreants from pushing cars over into the quarry—but the view was still lovely, with green, growing things clinging stubbornly to the sheer cliffs, and the blue of the sky reflecting in the deep water. 

As he moved back to his car, lungs full of fresh air, he wondered idly what else had changed and what had stayed the same. Were the cottages that lined the next cove over still there? Were the ponds by the track still full of turtles and frogs? Was Dean still there, or, as he’d always talked about, was he long-gone in his father’s classic car? Selfishly, Castiel hoped he would still be there. It was a silly thought. Their friendship had been a lifetime ago, brought about by proximity and the relative isolation of Angel Lake. Back then, Castiel’s summer visits had no doubt been a novelty for Dean. But Castiel had changed; the world had changed. If Dean was still there, no doubt he had changed as well.

Castiel clicked his seatbelt closed and turned the key in the ignition for the last leg of his journey.

When his radio station fuzzed out, he hit seek, and he continued jumping between the stations as, one-by-one, their signals got too weak. Finally, unable to find one without static, he turned the radio off, content to drive the last little way in silence. About an hour past Marmora, he spied a sign for Crotch Lake and smiled to himself, remembering the way Gabriel would snicker loudly and nudge him none-to-gently with his elbow every time they passed it, much to their mother’s chagrin. 

But more than a reminder of Gabriel’s crude humour, the Crotch Lake sign meant one thing: Angel Lake was close. 

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, he found the turn-off onto Mills Road, named for one of the long-time families in the area, and what was surely a new town sign, large, brightly painted and clean, depicting a clear blue lake surrounded by pines and birch and declaring  _ Welcome to Angel Lake.  _ This was it, Castiel thought. He was home.

*****

**Dean**

The leftover jars of syrup rattled in their case as the Impala made her way along the narrow, roughly maintained road that led from the town proper to the more spread out cottages and farmhouses on the far side of Angel Lake. There weren’t many left—Dean had been selling at the farmers’ market in Perth for a few years now, and he was good at guessing how many customers he could expect. The first weekend of the market was always a good one. 

It had been weird not to set up side-by-side with Cain’s display of honey and beeswax products, but the older man had officially moved away two days ago, and the new owner was supposed to arrive today. Apparently, the guy was taking over the business as well as the property, because an empty table had stood reserved beside Dean’s stand, and Cain had made noise about coming back up to Angel Lake tomorrow to show him the ropes. Dean only hoped the guy was good company, because it seemed they’d be seeing a lot of each other.

Maybe Dean would make a casserole and introduce himself, get off on the right foot.

But as he approached the driveway leading up to Cain’s old house, an unfamiliar car was backing out—presumably the new owner had finished unpacking and was headed out for groceries or supplies. Dean slowed and pulled to the side to give the driver space to turn onto the narrow road. It was a shitty car, a bland, boring, blue sedan, which was a definite point against the guy. More promising, though, was the glance Dean got at his new neighbour—a fleeting impression of dark hair and a square profile, and a strong-looking hand raised in a wave. Now there was something Dean could get used to looking at.

He let the car pass, and continued up the road to the gravel pull-around in front of his own house, where his mom emerged, ready to help him unload. 

By the time he heard the sound of his new neighbour's car returning, it was a few hours later, and Dean was busy making repairs to the dock that had gotten damaged during last week’s storm. He had yet to start on a casserole, and frankly, his new neighbour had probably had a long day.  _ Tomorrow _ , Dean concluded. He'd prepare the casserole tonight and bring it over in the morning when he introduced himself.

Naturally, the morning got away from him. Jody called him over when her truck wouldn’t start, and he’d found himself giving an impromptu lesson in engine maintenance to Claire, who scowled and faked disinterest, but took in everything he did keenly. By the time he headed back home, Dean spied Cain's battered truck in the driveway next door, and remembered that the older man had said he'd be showing the newcomer around the hives. 

Rather than interrupt their lesson, Dean busied himself with this and that, until he finally saw Cain's truck bounce off down the lane. Seeing his opportunity, he retrieved the covered Pyrex from the fridge and made his way across the grassy expanse between their two houses. 

The main door was ajar, so Dean knocked on the wooden frame of the screen door, which rattled, to no response. "Hello," he called, peering in through the screen. Though all the lights were off, sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the inside of the little house and making it clear no one was coming. 

Dean shrugged to himself and meandered over to poke his head around the side of the house, where the hives resided. There he found his new neighbour, still clad head-to-toe in beekeeping gear and sitting cross-legged in between two hives, something Cain had never done.

“Uh, hey there.” Dean lifted his free hand in greeting, keeping a wary distance from the hives. “Guess you’re my new competition, huh?” he said, then immediately wanted to smack himself. Way to scare the new dude off before he even had a chance to get to know him properly.

“Hello.” And holy shit, New Guy’s voice was like low, gravelly honey, and Dean wanted to roll around in it for a good long time, maybe the rest of his life. New Guy’s head tilted to the side in an endearing and oddly familiar way. “Competition?” 

_ Crap.  _ “You know, ‘cause you’re taking over Cain’s business. I’m your neighbour. At the farmers’ market, I mean. I’ve got the booth next to you. Maple syrup.”  _ Abort, abort.  _ If the man’s voice could make Dean trip over his words like this, he was half afraid to see what his face looked like. “I brought you a casserole,” he blurted, to keep his mouth from running away further on him.

“That was kind, thank you.” So saying, the man uncrossed his legs and got to his feet. “Would you mind putting it in my fridge? The door is unlocked. I’m just finishing up here.”

“Yeah, sure, man.” Dean found himself on more steady ground. “What, uh, what were you doing anyway?”

“Oh.” The man ducked his head in a way that was too endearing for someone wearing a giant net over his face. “I was just letting the bees get to know me. I want them to see me as a friend.”

“You, uh-you do that.” Dean half stumbled back towards the front of the house with an awkward finger gun, because wasn’t that the cutest fucking thing, and where did this guy get off having a voice  _ like that _ while saying things that made Dean want to wrap him up in blankets like some small, fluffy animal.

So distracted was he, that it wasn’t until the casserole dish was safely stowed and he was letting himself back outside, that Dean realized it was odd that his new neighbour just trusted him to walk inside his house and assumed he’d know where the fridge was.

But as Dean rounded the corner, the realization became moot. His neighbour had removed the beekeeping helmet and was in the process of stripping off the rest of his protective gear. He paused, hearing Dean’s footsteps, and lifted his head with a familiar, gummy smile. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought he made a choking noise, because standing in front of him was his erstwhile childhood friend Cas, and as much as teenage Dean had had an embarrassing secret crush on Cas, Cas at sixteen had nothing on Cas at thirty-four. 

_ Cas. Hot,  _ thought Dean’s stupid, one-track brain. 

“Cas. Hot,” said his equally stupid mouth, and then, recovering, “I mean, Cas! Long time no see. It’s hot out.”

*****

**Cas**

“Want to come have something cold to drink and catch up?” Dean had offered.

The Winchester farmhouse was much like Cas remembered, with a comfortable lived in feeling. 

Dean rubbed an embarrassed hand over the back of his neck, as he led Cas through the living room, now dominated by a large television, but otherwise unchanged, towards the kitchen at the back of the house. “Yeah, I know I should redecorate now that the house is my own, but I never really got around to it. I kind of like it the way it is.”

“There’s a lot of memories here,” Cas offered, still feeling shocked and pleased to be welcomed so warmly by his old friend. “Did your parents move away? Where are they living?”

“Oh, ah, Mom lives in the in-law suite. But Dad—uh, Dad passed, a while ago, now.”

Dean grimaced and Cas’s heart sank. “Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” Dean’s tone suggested there was more to the story, but Castiel took his cue and let the subject drop.

“Anyway”—Dean swung open the fridge—”I’ve got lemonade or I’ve got beer. Your choice. I could go both ways.” He turned and winked.

Cas took a glance at the clock. It was still only mid-afternoon. “How about we start with the lemonade and see where we go from there. We have a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.”

Dean pulled the pitcher from the fridge and shrugged, always so expressive in his body language. “From you, maybe. I don’t have a lot to tell.” He fetched two glasses from the cupboard and filled them, passing one to Cas as he hooked an ankle around the leg of a kitchen chair, pulling it out and taking a seat. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Cas protested, hovering awkwardly.

“Sit.” Dean kicked at the leg of another chair, nudging it outwards. Dutifully, Cas sat. “I dunno, Cas. I’m still here, doing what I’ve always done.”

“Last time I saw you, we were still in high school,” Cas countered. “I don’t know what you’ve ‘always done’.”

Dean chuckled. “Touché.” He took a swig of his lemonade and set the glass aside. “I’m a computer programmer. I mostly work from home for my friend Charlie.”

“And you make maple syrup.”

“I do. It’s pretty small-scale, but it brings in a little extra cash, and I’m not gonna sneeze at that. In fact”—he held up a finger—“let me get you a jug. Free for friends and family.” So saying, Dean disappeared down the cellar stairs and reappeared shortly, holding a growler of the dark, sweet liquid. “For you.”

Knowing Dean had never been one for the game of polite protest before accepting a gift, Cas took it with a smile. “Thank you. I don’t suppose you make maple sugar candies, too?” he added hopefully.

“I’ve got sugar candies and syrup candies. But I know the sugar ones are your favourites; I remember. Remind me before you go and I’ll grab you some.”

“I can’t believe you remembered that.” There was a warm ball of affection in Cas’s chest for his friend. “I’m going to end up very spoiled living here, I can tell. Let me do something in return. I could…” Cas bit his lip, trying to think of what he could offer. “I could give you some honey, I suppose.” 

“Thanks, Cas. I’m all stocked up here, but I promise, next time I run low, I’ll come banging down your door.” 

Had Dean always had such a heart-stopping smile, slow and sweet like the honey they were discussing? Cas judged it wise to change the subject, before he tumbled headlong back into his teenage crush. "I remember you used to talk about driving around the whole country in the Impala. Did you ever do that?"

"Once." Dean chuckled. "Sammy got it in his head to move out West when he was twenty-two. Said everyone was moving to Vancouver."

"That sounds about right," Cas agreed, eyes crinkling. “I think about half my friends made the move in their twenties, and maybe half of those stayed. Hannah’s been out there about six years now."

"So you know what I mean." Dean pointed his glass at him. "Sammy's one of the ones who stayed, too. Married to a woman by the name of Rowena now. Anyway, he needed to bring his stuff somehow, and it would’ve cost an arm and leg to ship it, so I rented a trailer to hitch to Baby—never again, let me tell you; I took the hitch off again as soon as I could—and drove him out there. Let me tell you, cross-country roadtrips lose their appeal after who knows how many hours of prairie with a gassy Sam in the car, and switchback roads are  _ not  _ meant for muscle cars."

Cas, who had sat in the backseat of his parents' rental cars on similar mountain roads when they had taken him skiing in Banff, could only imagine. "That must have been nerve-wracking. But you're a good driver."

"Cas, you haven't seen me drive since I was sixteen. How would you know what kind of driver I am?"

Cas fixed Dean with a look. "I know how much you've always loved that car. Of course you would be careful with it."

Perhaps he had been too sincere, because Dean ducked his head in response, muttering a gruff, “Thanks, Cas.”

“What else?” Cas asked. “Did you ever go away for school?”

“Ah.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “For a bit. I went to Queen’s for my Computer Science degree, moved there for a while.” 

The way his lips pressed together and his face went grim told Cas there was more of a story there. He considered opening his mouth to tell Dean he didn’t need to say more if it was a sensitive subject, but Dean barrelled on.

"Anyway, Mom got sick when I was in my third year—breast cancer—so I did my last couple years online mostly, so I could be at home. Dad took it hard, started drinking a lot. Mom got better; Dad wrapped his car around a tree. She went into remission two months after the funeral."

Cas pressed a hand against his mouth, horrified. “Oh God, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

Dean gave an uncomfortable little shrug, looking away. “It was a long time ago. But tell me about you,” he turned the subject. “What have you been up to? You were going to study political science weren’t you? Fix the government from the inside out?”

Cas groaned. “Let’s just say I was a little over-ambitious.”

“No way,” Dean insisted. “You were always brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Cas said a little wryly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but as it turns out, politics was not for me. I burnt out within my first year. I’ve done my share of activism, but I ended up majoring in anthropology and then somehow fell into a job selling radio ad time on CHUM FM. I did that up until two weeks ago. I quit to move out here. And, uh…” he paused, feeling self-conscious. “And I write. I have a series published, actually. It does well enough that between that and the honey, it’ll be enough to live on.” He snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye at Dean, trying to guess what he made of that.

"You're an author? Anything I would have read?"

"That depends if cozy mysteries are your speed. Do you know the Honey Harbour Heists series?"

"That's you?” A grin spread across Dean’s face. “My mom loves those. She and Jody and Donna have been trying to get me to read them for ages. Guess I know what's next on the reading list."

"Jody and Donna?"

"Oh yeah, they're neighbours. They've got the big place on the other side of my land. You probably wouldn't remember them—they were a bit too old to hang out with us when we were kids—but Jody's family's lived there for ages. They’ve got a bunch of long-term foster kids who’re pretty cool for troubled teens. Good people. You'll love them."

"They sound lovely. And please, don't feel obligated to read my books."

"Are you kidding? The only reason I hadn't is because I hadn't found the time. And now that I know you wrote them, I'm gonna _make_ the time."

From there, the conversation took a turn into their childhood exploits, and soon, the heavier subjects were forgotten as Dean threw his head back in laughter at Cas’s dry recollection of the time he had filled Michael’s bed with frogs and successfully pinned it on Gabriel.

“Dude, you were such a secret badass,” Dean teased, eyes sparkling. 

Cas laughed. “I learned from the best.”

“Yeah, but no one ever suspected you, and then, bam! You got them good. Good times, Cas. Those were good times.”

Reminiscing on their childhood summers, they finished their lemonade and moved on to beer. By the time Cas glanced at Dean's clock and noticed that it was closing in on seven, they still weren't ready to say see you later. Instead, by mutual agreement, they moved across the lawn to Cas's house, where he popped Dean's casserole in the oven and they settled in with another drink to wait for it to cook.

"It smells delicious," Cas praised as the tantalizing aroma began to permeate his kitchen. "You made it from scratch?"

"Sure did." Dean's small, proud smile was a sight to behold. Naturally, the man was as adorable as he was handsome and charming, and Cas’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. He was lucky to be able to rekindle his friendship with Dean so easily. The last thing he needed was to develop feelings for him again that would never be returned.

Shoving the spark of romantic interest down, Cas moved to the fridge to refresh their drinks and start on a salad to accompany the dish.

“You’re really gonna feed me rabbit food?” Dean grumbled good-naturedly.

Cas rolled his eyes despite the smile that threatened to spread across his face. “It won’t hurt you. Besides, what’s the point of living in the country if you can’t enjoy fresh produce?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Despite his words, there was a grin across Dean’s face. “I’ll set the table. Where do you keep your silverware?”

“Top drawer.”

Soon, they were sitting down to a delicious, cheese-filled casserole, and a crisp, fresh salad. Cas smirked as he watched Dean shove a forkful of greens into his mouth with relish, and only grew more amused when Dean fixed him with a baleful glare and chewed pointedly.

“You’re an excellent cook, Dean,” Cas said, bringing another delicious forkful to his mouth. Dean blushed, and conversation fell by the wayside in favour of eating.

"So," Dean said, eventually, when they were down to the last few bites, "moving all the way out here on your own, I'm guessing you're not married either. You leave a girlfriend behind in the city? What's she think about all this?"

"No, no girlfriend. Just my friend Meg." Cas hesitated, but if he and Dean were going to be neighbours—and especially if they were going to be friends—then Dean would find out eventually. "Actually, I'm gay."

It was because Cas was watching Dean so closely, apprehensive of his reaction, that he noticed the instant widening of his eyes and the hint of colour that sprung up in his cheeks. But even if he hadn't, Dean's faltering, stutter of, "Cool. That's, uh—that's cool," would have made Dean's discomfort clear. 

Cas's heart sank.

"I mean, that's great," Dean went on, with an odd little chuckle. "We've got ourselves a regular old gaybourhood here, huh? What are the odds? I mean, with you now, and Jody and Donna, and I think a couple of their girls have a thing, and of course—"

"Dean," Cas cut in, then bit his lip, wincing internally at Dean's awkward rambling, but unsure what else to say.

Dean gave himself a visible shake. "Sorry 'bout that. I can be smooth, really. But thanks for telling me." 

The smile he gave was heartstopping, and Cas forced himself to smile back, though he suspected there was an edge of a grimace to it. It seemed like Dean was willing to work through his discomfort, which was nice, but deep down, Cas could admit, he'd been hoping for a reaction that was much more wholeheartedly positive.

"So, a boyfriend, then?" Dean asked. "Got one of those missing you?"

"No boyfriend." Cas gave a little shrug. "I've been single for a very long time."

Try as he might, he could not quite figure out what the look on Dean's face meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: almost all of the places mentioned in this fic are real, though I have admittedly played fast & loose with geography. The town of Angel Lake itself is fictional, but it is based on a composite of a couple different places in the same area.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Important Note: In this chapter, I have made Kaia a member of the Shabot Obaadjiwan First Nation. I chose this nation because of its proximity to the town on which Angel Lake is based, and intended it in the same spirit as when I adapted Benny from Cajun to French Canadian in a previous AU - Canada fic. This is in no way meant to imply that Indigenous cultures and peoples are interchangeable, because they are not. My thanks to the Shabot Obaadjiwan First Nation for the use of your name.
> 
> In this story, Kaia has been taken from her family and placed in foster care outside her community. Unfortunately, this is all too common in Canada where Indigenous children are massively overrepresented in the foster system, largely due to anti-Indigenous racism and the legacy of colonialism. Jody and Donna have taken steps to keep Kaia connected to her family and community, but this does not excuse the system as a whole.

**Dean**

Dean went home that night feeling buoyant. He had never expected to see Cas again, but here he was, intelligent and handsome and somehow interested in being Dean's friend. 

And okay, there had been some awkward moments there, what with Dean's initial stunned reaction to Cas's hotness, not to mention the way Dean had tripped over himself when Cas had said he was gay. Hot men just had that effect on him, especially hot queer men he might potentially have a chance with—he'd tripped over three chairs when Aaron, his last boyfriend, had come onto him. True, Cas hadn't seemed to reciprocate Dean's interest, but oddly enough, that had been enough to calm Dean down and let him act normal—or some semblance of it, at any rate.

And anyway, Cas had just moved here. He was still settling in. Romance probably wasn’t even on his radar yet. There would be plenty of time to ease into a flirtation and see how things went. 

And even if Cas was never interested, well, through some miracle, Dean had still got his best friend back.

His mom was waiting by his door as Dean crossed the scrubby grass to his home. 

“It’s unlocked, you know,” he called once he was within earshot. 

Mary turned, holding a box and what looked like a six-pack in her hands. “I was respecting your boundaries,” she shot back cheerfully.

“In this family?” Dean teased, reaching her and taking part of her load.

“Hey, give a lady credit for trying. I bought beer and blueberry pie. Wanna have a drink and hang out with your mom? We can play cards.”

“Sounds good to me. Though I should warn you, I’ve already had a couple beers with our new neighbour. You’ll never guess who it is.” He pushed the door open, and Mary followed him through towards the kitchen that used to be hers. She set the pie on the table while Dean fetched two beers from the case and shoved the rest into the fridge.

“Lay it on me.”

“You remember Amara’s niece and nephews?”

“Of course. You and Cas were such good friends. It was such a pity when she had that falling out with Chuck. It’s one of them?”

“Sure is.” Dean grinned. “Turns out, Cain sold the place to Cas. And”—he paused to wiggle his eyebrows—“turns out he’s also your favourite author.” 

“Cas DeCoeur is C.J. Novak?”

“Yeah, I guess Novak’s his mom’s maiden name. Awesome, right?”

“Very awesome,” Mary agreed. “Now, bring me a knife for this pie and come deal the cards. Euchre?”

*****

The next day being Monday, Dean had work to do. Charlie had sent him the details of a new project that they would be working on together. It was a nice change from the independent work she often sent him, since it gave them an excuse to keep a conversation going over voice chat. Technically, Charlie was Dean's boss, but more than that, she’d been his best friend since they'd bonded in their university days over their shared love for Star Wars.

It was Charlie who had coaxed Dean into openly embracing his nerdy side, and Charlie who had invited Dean to his first GSA meeting and his first queer gathering and who had coaxed him into telling her all about the blue-eyed boy who had been his first real crush.

It was Charlie who had refused to let him fall off the radar after his mom had gotten sick and he'd had to take up distance learning, and when she had started up her company after graduation, Dean had been the first person she'd called. She had a couple other employees these days—Ash, a mullet-sporting genius, and Frank, who was a paranoid bastard, but who knew encryption better than anyone else. 

"But you're still my favourite," she assured Dean regularly. 

"Does that mean you're coming up for a visit soon?" Dean asked. "It's beautiful out here."

It was a gorgeous day, so he'd moved his set-up down from his childhood bedroom that now served as his office, to work on the screened-in porch. The earth was bursting with green life, and just below the gently sloping front yard, the waters of Angel Lake glinted enticingly.

"I want to." Charlie sighed. "And I want to meet this new old neighbour of yours and see if he's as dreamy as you say he is. I just don't know how soon I can get away." In addition to Moondoor Tech, Charlie had her finger in many pies, enough that her schedule was always erratic. Nevertheless, she and Dean made a point of getting together for three-to-four day weekends every couple months.

"I never said he was dreamy," Dean protested. "Stop making me sound like I'm thirteen."

"Did you or did you not trip over your own tongue when you recognized him? You didn't have to say the word 'dreamy' for me to hear you say it." Charlie made a considering noise. "How about Canada Day? I can definitely block that off."

It was more than a month away, but maybe by that point, Dean wouldn't be such a wreck around Cas. Maybe he'd even have managed to entice him out on a date. "Canada Day works. Maybe we'll do fireworks."

Dean signed off his computer about five, and after a quick trip upstairs to stow his equipment, he crossed the lawn to knock on Cas's door.

"Hello, Dean." Cas answered the door in a slightly stretched out t-shirt that offered a tantalizing glimpse of his collarbone and jeans that did his already magnificent thighs plenty of (unnecessary) favours. His hair was dishevelled as if he'd just rolled out of bed—or as if he were freshly fucked, Dean's traitorous mind supplied—and he was barefoot, which was somehow the most enticing fact of all.

Dean's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn't entirely certain that if Cas continued living here, looking like that, that one of these days Dean wouldn't just expire on the spot from the sheer power of his hotness.

"Hey, uh, hey Cas," he found his voice at last. Dropping his voice he tried again. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean," Cas repeated, and was that disappointment in his eyes? Dean frowned and nibbled on his bottom lip. "How can I help you?"

Incongruously, Cas's strange formality helped relax Dean. He snorted. "No need to stand on ceremony. I just came by to see if you wanted to be introduced to the neighbours." He could bet that Jody and Donna were eager to meet the new addition to Angel Lake, and only their work schedules and a desire to let him settle in first had stopped them from coming by before this. He suspected their teenage wards were also burning with curiosity—even prickly Claire, who pretended she was too cool to care about the denizens of the small town.

“Thank you.” Some of the tension melted out of Cas’s shoulders. “I’d enjoy that. Just let me go shut down my laptop. Please come in.”

Dean was left alone in the living room, while Cas popped back upstairs. He took advantage of the time to look around the room. Not much had changed—the furniture was still the same as when Cain lived here and very little rearranging had been done, but there was a cactus sitting on a low table before the window, and a couple other new houseplants, along with a framed photo showing Cas with his arm around a woman with a pretty heart-shaped face and a smile like she’d like to eat you alive. 

He was taking stock of the books on the bookcase—including the Honey Harbour Heists series he now knew Cas had written—when Cas emerged from the stairwell, now wearing shoes and a better-fitting t-shirt. The effect was devastating all the same.

“How’s this?” Cas asked, spreading his arms, and Dean could only give an awkward thumbs up.

“Good. You, uh—you look real good, Cas.” He rubbed a hand over his face to stop the words. “Let’s head over to the madhouse.”

Other than Amara’s cottage, Jody and Donna were their closest neighbours. The other houses in either direction were cottages that were frequently rented out during the summer months. Most of them were empty at the moment, though the owners would likely be flocking up for Victoria Day the next weekend to open them up for the season. 

“I’ll introduce you around the town proper another day,” Dean promised. “But Jody and Donna are the ones you most want to meet, trust me.” 

Jody Mills and Donna Hanscum were two of the most badass women Dean knew. If Charlie had helped Dean to come out, then Jody and Donna had helped pave the way for him to live out and proud in their small town.

A social worker and a game warden respectively, they had started taking in troubled teenage girls to foster a few years ago, beginning with Alex, then the rebellious Claire. Patience had come a year ago, and the most recent was Kaia, a shy girl from the nearby Shabot Obaadjiwan First Nation. Jody and Donna had taken her in when the government had insisted she couldn’t stay with her grandmother in her community. They made a point to take her out to see her family as often as possible, the best compromise they could manage.

Dean was fairly certain that Kaia and Claire had begun dating shortly after her arrival. It seemed to be good for the both of them.

Warm and welcoming as they were, Jody and Donna’s house was always full of noise and energy. Dean knew that they’d take to Cas right away and hoped Cas would take to them just as quickly.

It was Claire, with her heavy eyeliner and suspicious looks, who answered the door. “Hey there, Hasselhoff,” she greeted Dean. “This the new guy?”

“Claire,” Jody called from the direction of the kitchen, “come help set the table.”

“Dean’s here,” Claire shouted back, “and he brought the newbie.”

That brought Jody out of the kitchen. “Dean.” She embraced him. “And you must be our new neighbour,” she said to Cas. “Don’t worry, I don’t hug until I get to know you. Donna’s the friendly one.” Her eyes twinkled. “Want to stay for dinner? Claire can set two more places.”

“Oh,” Cas said, taken aback by the invitation. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Trust me,” Dean assured him. “You’re not imposing. And Jody makes an awesome roast chicken, if that’s what I smell.”

Jody’s lips pursed in amusement. “Always led by his stomach, this one,” she told Cas. “I’m Jody Mills, by the way, since Dean hasn’t seen fit to introduce us. And Dean’s right; you’re not imposing.”

She spoke right over Dean’s, “Hey, I was getting to it.”

Cas ducked his head. “Thank you.” Dammit, how did a grown man being awkward end up being so fucking cute? “I’m Castiel DeCoeur. You can call me Cas.”

“He’s Amara’s nephew,” Dean added.

“Oh, really?” Jody’s eyebrows raised at this bit of news. “I didn’t know Amara was in touch with any of her family.”

“Ah.” Cas shrugged. “She and my dad cut ties a long time ago, but it seemed silly not to talk to someone who had always been kind to me, just because she and my dad were having a feud. So, I reached out to her a few years ago, and we’ve kept in touch. She told me when Cain was selling his home. I’d always wanted to be a beekeeper. You remember, right, Dean?”

Dean remembered. 

Cas had always loved bees, despite Dean’s perfectly reasonable wariness of their stingers, and had spent the summer they were ten trailing after Cain. Later, when they were teens, he’d rambled excitedly about the reading he’d been doing on apiaries and urban beekeeping. It seemed he hadn’t had much chance to pursue his dream in the intervening years—he’d rented the same basement apartment since university, he’d told Dean, and worked a lot, when he wasn’t writing a successful mystery series on top of that. 

But now bees had brought Cas back into Dean’s life. There was something right about that, Dean thought.

“Five minutes,” Donna’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Claire, the table,” Jody reminded her. “You two are staying?”

“Sure are,” Dean replied for both of them, without giving Cas a chance to play the polite refusal game. No one here would judge him for accepting an invitation right off the bat.

“Yeah, okay,” Claire siad. “I’ll put Dean next to his boyfriend, will I?”

“I—You—” Dean spluttered. Way to scare Cas off before Dean had even gauged his interest. “Only if you sit next to your girlfriend,” he retorted.

“Shut up,” Claire muttered, but there was a blush and a fond smile barely hidden beneath her scowl, and Dean patted himself on the back for being right.

“C’mon,” he said to Cas, nodding to a door beside the stairs. “We can wash up in there and then go help out.”

He was gratified a minute later, when they emerged into the kitchen, to find Claire and Kaia standing a little too close together, a soft look on both their faces. Love was good for Claire, he thought. It was good for both of them.

Before he could get more than a foot into the room, Donna turned from the stove, blonde ponytail swinging. “Dean!” she exclaimed, crossing the room, spatula still in hand, for an enthusiastic hug. “Who’s your new friend?” she asked, when she pulled back, prompting a new round of introductions, which had to be renewed when first Patience and then Alex, still in scrubs from her job at the clinic in town, arrived through the side door. Alex had technically aged out of the system already, but she was living with Jody and Donna for one more year of work experience before she started nursing school in Ottawa in the fall.

As at home in the Mills-Hanscum household as his own, Dean made himself useful, carrying serving dishes from the counter to the table, and Cas soon joined him, eager to help, despite Donna’s protests that he was a guest and should relax. Soon, everyone was seated around the tale, and it was a loud, raucous meal indeed.

Cas, seated to Dean’s right, was quiet for the most part, but when Dean glanced at him, he returned a small, gummy smile.

“Thank you, Dean, for including me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a dinner like this.”

*****

**Age 10 - Dean**

_ The summer Dean was ten, he’d come down with a nasty flu.  _

_ “Just a twenty-four hour bug,” his mom had said at first as she tucked him into bed with a glass of ginger ale and a plastic pail, though when it went on longer than that, she’d frowned and hovered and shoved a thermometer under his tongue more times than Dean was okay with. _

_ “Come on, Mom,” Dean had whined that first day, even though his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his stomach roiled. “You’ve got to let me out of bed. Cas’ll have nothing to do if I’m not around.” _

_ “Cas will be a lot more miserable if he catches what you have,” Mary countered.  _

_ Dean made a sour face.  _

_ “Don’t give me that look. Cas can play with his siblings or with Sam.” _

_ “That’s not fair. Sam’s basically a baby.” _

_ “Be nice.” Mary rolled her eyes as a petulant voice from the stairs piped up, “I’m not a baby.” _

_ “Whatever.” Dean pouted. “You’re only six. You can’t make Cas hang out with a six-year-old.” _

_ “I’m sure Cas can find something to entertain himself with. You need to focus on getting better. Try to get some rest.” Mary brushed a hand over his forehead even as Dean settled back sulkily into the pillows and got to her feet. “Sam, honey, come on downstairs. We don’t want you to catch Dean’s flu.” _

_ The two of them headed downstairs, leaving Dean alone in the darkened room, with only the sunlight creeping in around the edges of his curtains for company. Determined to stay awake, if only to prove he couldn’t be bossed around, nevertheless, Dean soon drifted off into a fitful sleep. _

_ In between ginger ale, tomato rice soup, and naps interrupted with the hated thermometer, the next few days passed in an uncertain haze. The one bright spot came in the form of a card, clearly painstakingly handmade, which Mary brought to him as he sat up to squint at one of his comic books one afternoon.  _

_ “Cas brought you this,” she told him. “He says to get well soon.” _

_ “I’m trying,” Dean grumbled, but the card made him smile. _

_ When he was finally recovered enough that his mom let him out of the house, the first thing Dean did was go look for Cas. He didn’t find him around the cottage or down on the beach, and was contemplating searching a short way along the track—something he knew his mom would not approve of when he was only just on the mend—when he saw a pair of figures round the side of his neighbour Cain’s house. One, tall, he knew right away was Cain, despite the netted bee-keeping gear. The other, smaller figure was Cas. _

_ Dean lagged behind to watch unseen as Cas trotted after Cain on his shorter legs. Cain stopped him with a raised hand at a safe distance from the hives, and Cas obediently sat on the scrubby grass with his legs crossed and his chin in his hands, looking enraptured. _

_ Still out of sight, Dean stopped short to watch. Cain had been gruff but kind when Dean was younger, but since his wife, Collette, had passed away the year before, he had become practically reclusive, rebuffing Dean's mom's attempts at drawing him out and certainly having no time for young boys who wanted to hang around and ask questions while he worked. _

_ Except maybe he did, because he was turning to Cas and demonstrating something, answering something Dean was too far away to hear. This did not seem to be the first time they had done this either. _

_ Trust Cas to make friends, not with one of the local kids or the other cottagers, but with a lonely old man and his boxes of stinging insects. _

_ Dean watched the lesson, and only when Cain had replaced the last frame and left to remove his safety gear did Dean approach, the swish of feet through the longer grass finally alerting Cas to his presence. _

_ "Hello, Dean!" Cas looked up with a bright smile splitting his face. "Are you feeling better?" _

_ "Heya, Cas." Dean grasped the branch of the low-growing tree by the corner of Cain's house, using it to swing down the small slope. "Mom finally let me outside. Whatcha doing? Not too bored without me?" _

_ "Dean"—Cas's countenance was shining—"Cain's been letting me watch the bees." _

_ "You're such a nerd." Dean dropped down to sit beside him on the grass, nudging Cas with his shoulder with affection. _

_ "Maybe I'll be a beekeeper," Cas retorted, nudging him back, a little harder. "Am I still a nerd?" _

_ Dean knocked his shoulder back into Cas's. "Yes, you are." _

_ "I'll show you a nerd." Laughing, Cas launched himself at Dean for an impromptu wrestling match. _

_ "Hey, no fair. No fair." Dean fended him off, dissolving into laughter, too. "I was just sick!" _

_ As they rolled on the ground, Cain emerged from the shed, now divested of the beekeeping gear. He shook his head at the pair. "Glad to see you up and about, Dean." _

_ Dean and Cas flopped back into the grass, still giggling. _

*****

**Cas**

Despite Dean’s slight discomfort with Cas’s sexuality, he seemed as eager to resume their old friendship as Cas was. On Tuesday at five, he showed up at Cas’s door again, this time offering a tour of the little town. On Wednesday, Mary Winchester simply insisted on meeting Cas again, and the three of them ended up playing an excessively competitive game of cribbage around her kitchen table. 

Thursday found them out on the dock, fishing. Or rather, Dean fished, while Cas was content to watch.

“I can’t believe you moved all the way out here without getting your fishing license first.” With a deft flick of his wrist, Dean sent his line soaring out over the still water. “First thing tomorrow, you get online and apply.” His eyes sparkled as he gave the order, and Cas found his eyes crinkling in return.

“Yes, Dean. Of course, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Now that’s what I like to hear. Chilly?” he asked, when Cas shivered slightly in the breeze off the lake.

“Just a bit.”

“Here.” And then Dean was shrugging off his flannel shirt and passing it over, and really, who was Cas to refuse?

Friday night, Jody and Donna held a bonfire. Cas had been hesitant about going at first, but Dean insisted, and before he knew it, he found himself drawn into their warm, laughing circle of family and friends. Even sarcastic Claire plopped down beside him at one point, shoving a bag of marshmallows into his hands and insisting, “Don’t just sit there like a doof. Make yourself a s’more or something.”

“You’ve won over Claire,” Dean said, sliding into the seat on the other side of Cas with a wink. “You’re one of the cool kids now.” He stuck his own marshmallow onto a stick, and lowering into the flames beside Cas’s, nudged their shoulders together.

Early Saturday morning, Cas carefully packed up his car with cases of honey and boxes of beeswax candles, soaps, and scented wax melts. Across the open space between their houses, Cas could see Dean doing similar to the Impala.

Dean caught his eye and waved, trotting over. "Ready for the big day, Cas?"

Closing the back door with his hip and balancing the last box in one arm, Cas ran the fingers of the other through his hair, undoubtedly messing it up worse than its already untamable state. 

"Just about. I hope people won't be too sorry to see me instead of Cain."

"Trust me," Dean said, with a broad wink. "No one's gonna be disappointed to see you."

It was very kind of him to say. 

"Thank you, Dean. Will I follow you there?"

"Sounds like a plan. Once we get there, I'll help you unload and show you where to set up your stuff. You and I are right inside the doors of the Crystal Palace."

"Thank you," Cas said again and Dean grinned.

"No need to be so formal with me. Now, let me get that for you and we can be on our way." So saying, Dean reached in, closer than Cas was expecting, to open Cas's front passenger door. "I assume that box is for the front seat?"

"It is." Cas stowed the box and Dean shut the door after he straightened up.

"Well," he clapped his hands together as if knocking off dirt. "Let's get this show on the road." Cocking his finger at Cas like a gun, he backed away in the direction of his own gleaming car.

*****

The Crystal Palace turned out to be a large, glass pavilion beside the Tay River. Already, vendors were beginning to set up stands near the front entrance, and Cas could see more hustle and bustle inside. He hoisted the first of his boxes in his arms and was met with Dean, carrying a box of his own.

"This way." Dean led him past an older woman who was in the process of setting out upcycled clothing that Cas could only describe as 'funky'. "Morning, Mildred."

"Good morning, Dean. Who's your handsome friend?"

"Nice to have some eye candy around here, huh?" Dean joked. "This is Cas. He's taken over Heavenly Honey from Cain. Cas, Mildred Baker."

"You've always been enough eye candy for me," Mildred flirted outrageously. "But I'll let you two get set up for now. Welcome to the circus, Cas."

"She seems nice," Cas remarked as they passed through the doors into the interior of the pavilion. 

"Oh yeah, Mildred's great. Spent most of her life in a Patsy Cline tribute band, before retiring out here."

To the left of the entrance a woman was laying out packages of what appeared to be loose-leaf tea, and beyond that was a table already piled with root vegetables of all kinds. To the right were two empty tables which Dean steered them towards. 

"This is us." He set his box on the further table, leaving the one closest to the door for Cas. "Let's go get the rest of our stuff and then we'll set up. Rufus will watch our table." He waved to a grizzled man with a table full of woodcarvings across the way. "I'll introduce you around after."

True to his word, once Dean and Cas both had their booths set up to their satisfaction, but before too many visitors began trickling in, Dean took Cas around to meet the other vendors. "Don't worry, I'm keeping an eye out. We can jump back over if we get any customers."

The woman with the tea was Tasha Banes. Nora Havelock sold potted and dried herbs beside Lee Chambers who sold cheese. The next table boasted intricate knitting and Cas was introduced to Missouri Moseley, who nodded at him with a knowing eye. Harvelle Family Farm had a booth, where Cas met mother and daughter Ellen and Jo.

"We don't have too much fresh this early in the season," Ellen explained, most of their display being preserves of various kinds. "But you just wait until things start growing, and we'll have plenty more produce up here."

An influx of customers meant Dean and Cas had to return to their booths, and Cas made several sales, all while watching out of the corner of his eye as Dean presented his own customers with samples in tiny disposable paper cups. Eventually the space cleared, but not before they had both moved enough that they needed to set out more from the stock behind them.

"Seems like we've got a lull," Dean remarked when they were finished. "Ready to meet some more people?”

The grizzled woodcarver, Rufus had been joined by an equally grizzled man selling what turned out to be sculptures made out of car parts.

"Heya, Bobby. Good to see your pretty face," Dean greeted the man, who responded with a grunt that sounded like "idjit."

"Who's your new boyfriend?" Bobby asked, and Castiel tensed.

"B-boyfriend? He's not—We're not—" Dean stuttered, clearly flustered, and Cas fought to control his wince. Bobby and Rufus exchanged amused glances, and Cas felt his smile become fixed and tense.

But to his surprise, Dean glanced over at him and recovered quickly. "Don't mind them. These old assholes are just taking the piss out of me." He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "They're not being homophobes or anything," he added with a pointed look at them.

"Sorry, son." Bobby had the grace to look slightly sheepish beneath his trucker cap. "We just like to give Dean a hard time, cause he's practically family. Didn't think how it would sound to a newbie."

"Not that Cas isn't a catch," Dean said, much to Cas’s chagrin, "but he's my new neighbour. Taking over for Cain. I figured I'd show him the ropes, introduce him to folks."

"Nice to meetcha." Bobby put out his hand to shake without getting up, and Cas realized he was in a wheelchair. "Bobby Singer. And this here old coot is Rufus Turner."

Castiel exchanged handshakes with the two men, but he was itching to get out of there after the uncomfortable scene. At least Dean hadn’t seemed too bothered to be teased about having a boyfriend as some straight men would be, but regardless, it wasn’t the sort of humour Cas appreciated. Seeing a few new pedestrians lingering near the open doorway, and thus by his booth, he took that for the excuse it provided and made his escape.

Despite hovering over his booth for a bit, picking up this and that to examine before ultimately putting it back down again, the group of shoppers eventually passed over Cas’s stand without buying anything. By that time, Dean had returned to his own table and once he saw that Cas was no longer busy, he leaned in, brow furrowed.

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

“Of course,” Cas answered, looking out into the crowd, rather than turning to meet Dean’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seemed kind of bothered by Bobby and Rufus implying you were my boyfriend.” Dean’s words were blunt, but he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a way that said he wasn’t entirely comfortable.

Cas gave in. “I’m not overly fond of the implication that there’s something humorous about dating a man.” It was an adequate explanation, even if it didn’t cover all the nuances of his feelings.

Oddly, Dean barked a laugh. “Dude, no. I promise that’s not what it was about. But noted. I’ve told Bobby and Rufus to knock it off around you, and they will.”

That was thoughtful. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You got it, buddy.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Now look sharp, I spy customers, and they’re making a beeline to you.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Pun intended?”

“Pun intended.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Age 12 - Cas**

_ “Want me to get that for you?” _

_ “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Castiel twisted and strained, trying to get a better angle to rub sunscreen on his own back. He was pretty sure he’d missed a spot, and he’d have a painful burn there by the next day, but it was better than asking Dean to do it. _

_ After all, Cas had had his first wet dream the night they’d arrived in Angel Lake, featuring his friend’s green eyes and freckled shoulders. It had been embarrassing enough, trying to smuggle his sticky bedding out of the room he shared with Gabriel without his older brother noticing and making a scene about it. If Dean were to actually touch Castiel, who knew what his body would do? _

_ It would be humiliating. He could guarantee that much. Dean would be disgusted, maybe even angry. He certainly wouldn’t want to be Cas’s friend anymore. _

_ What was a little sunburn compared to that? _

_ “Whatever, dude.” Dean grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from where Cas had dropped it on top of their towels, squeezing a little into his hand and slapping it on his own shoulders. “If Mom asks why we got burnt, I’m blaming you. Now, come on. I wanna swim out to the floating dock.” _

_ An afternoon spent jumping off the floating dock into the deep part of the lake was almost enough to keep Cas from thinking about his inconvenient new feelings for Dean. Almost. Inevitably, Dean would grin at him, or the light would hit his face just right, and Cas would be struck again by just how beautiful he was. _

_ He was pathetically glad for the cool, silty waters of this part of the lake. At least, until Dean slapped him with a length of wet leafy seaweed then swam away laughing. _

_ That was enough to take Cas's mind off his crush, and he leapt after Dean, prepared for battle. _

_ Naturally, he burned, and just as naturally, Mary Winchester took one look at the sore, reddened skin of his neck the next day, peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, and made a sympathetic noise. _

_ “You need to be more careful, sweetie. I know you kids think you’re invincible now, but you can do lasting damage to yourself.” _

_ Standing in the Winchesters’ screened porch, waiting for Dean, Cas ducked his head. “Yes, Mrs. Winchester.” _

_ She smiled kindly. “If only my boys were as polite as you. Now, Dean’s got the aloe, so I’ll have him help you out.” _

_ “Oh, no, that’s alright,” Cas tried to protest, as he realized his carelessness had put him right back in the place he’d wished to avoid. “Aunt Amara already gave me some this morning.” _

_ “Well, it can’t help to add some more. Don’t worry, Cas, we’ve got plenty. And between you and me, Dean’s burnt worse than you are, so you’ll need to help him out, too.” _

_ Dean’s, “Oh come on, Mom,” as he skidded into the room drowned out Cas’s quiet, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” and so, Cas found himself in the ninth level of his own personal hell. He managed to avoid humiliating himself, but just barely, and it was with a burning face and a troubled heart that he followed Dean out towards the tracks. _

*****

**Cas**

The first day of June dawned bright and sunny, but not uncomfortably hot. Cas took advantage of the early morning stillness to take a run along the track—technically a stretch of the Bruce Trail. As kids, when he and Dean had had their fill of the lake, they'd ramble along here, startling frogs in the marshy areas, looking for signs of wildlife, and jumping out of the way when someone came down the track in a four-wheeler.

Once, on one of his parents' weekend visits, his mother had insisted on taking all her children for an educational hike, much to Gabriel's boredom and Michael's distaste for being stuck with his younger siblings. Hannah had accepted it with the same unrelenting serenity she did everything. Cas, had had no complaints, especially as she'd extended the invitation to the Winchester boys as well. Sam had earned the title of "nerd" from Dean for the way he eagerly gobbled up the facts Naomi had rattled off as they walked, but for Cas—and Dean—the real highlight had been the cicada that fell out of a tree and down the back of Naomi's shirt. Cas had never heard his normally composed mother shriek so loud.

It was a good memory.

Cas followed the track at a steady pace, as the sun rose further and the air warmed. The track met the road again up by Jody and Donna's place, and he waved to them, already outdoors working on something in their garden, as he turned onto it, slowing to a jog. The road took him past Dean's back forty, mostly filled with the red maples and sugar maples he used to make his syrup, interspersed with pockets of evergreens, and here, a magical glade filled with ferns, some now starting to unfurl, while others still formed tight fiddleheads. Cas should ask Dean if he could harvest some of the greens while they were still in the edible state.

At last, Cas's path brought him back past Dean's house, where he found Dean clad in a tight t-shirt and bent over the open hood of the Impala, no doubt performing some kind of routine maintenance. Before he was noticed, Cas took a moment to appreciate the flex of Dean's biceps as he worked, then guiltily tore his eyes away. Dean had been making a clear effort to be open and accepting of Cas's sexuality, even if he wasn't totally at ease with it, and the least Cas could do was refrain from making him uncomfortable with his ogling.

In a moment, the crunch of the gravel beneath Cas's feet alerted Dean to his presence, and his friend straightened up, a smear of engine grease on the corner of his jaw that unfairly only made him more handsome.

"Heya, Cas," Dean called, waving him up the path. "June first," he added as Cas came to join him by the car. "Happy Pride month, eh." He winked.

"Oh, ah—" Cas fumbled, caught off guard. He hadn't expected Pride to be on Dean's radar at all, let alone for Dean to wish him a happy one. His heart warmed at the effort Dean had obviously made. "Thank you. It means a lot that you'd think of it."

Dean gave him an odd look. "Of course, man. You gonna be at the parade?"

"I don't know." Cas shook his head. "Toronto seems a long way to drive for it. I guess I could go to Ottawa or Kingston, but even that's a ways in a car."

"Dude." Something about Dean's expression suggested he was laughing at him, and Cas tried not to bristle. Dean was  _ trying.  _ "I meant Perth Pride. It's in three weeks."

Cas blinked. "Perth has a Pride? But it's—"

"What?" Dean asked. "Small?"

"Er, yes?" Cas's voice was faint, feeling wrong-footed again. 

Dean snorted. "Hey. I know all the stereotypes about small towns, and there are assholes everywhere, but there are more open-minded people than you'd think. Something to keep in mind."

"Of course." Cas felt suitably chastened. "Are you going to Perth Pride, then?"

He still half expected an excuse, but Dean just shrugged easily. "Oh, probably. But then, you could say I'm on the fence." He winked again, incongruously.

Cas considered celebrating Pride with his extremely handsome, supportive friend by his side. "What, uh, what would it take to convince you one way or the other?"

"C'mon, Cas. You know you can't ask that." Dean was definitely laughing again, but Cas had no idea of the joke. "By the way, could you pass me the lube?"

Cas's brain stuttered. "The what?"

"The lube." Dean gestured towards a bottle sitting on a wide, weathered tree stump nearby. "For the engine."

"Oh, right." Cas could feel the heat trying to creep up his cheeks. "Of course."

*****

“Wow, Clarence,” Meg drawled over the phone. “Hot tip: maybe next time, don’t imply to your crush that you think he and people like him are close-minded rednecks.”

“I didn’t,” Cas protested, horrified. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know.” He could picture the sardonic cock of her eyebrow over the line. 

She  _ tsk _ ed sarcastically. “And after all the times you lectured me. Got some unexamined bias there, eh, Clarence?”

He had done that, hadn’t he? “Oh god,” Cas muttered, ashamed. He really ought to know better, and now Dean would be offended, and—

“Relax.” Meg’s chuckle was smokey. “I’m just giving you a hard time. So you made a stupid assumption. It happens, and you won’t do it again. Plus, Hottie McBowlegs still asked you to be his date to this quaint little Pride parade, so I’d say you’ve come out ahead.”

“It’s hardly a date.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” Cas rolled his eyes. “He didn’t even say he was going for sure—he’s on the fence about it. And I don’t want to make him more uncomfortable—he’s clearly making an effort, but these things can be hard for straight men.”

“I thought you said your neighbours were lesbians, and he’s fine with them.”

“That’s hardly the same thing. Straight men aren’t threatened by lesbians the way they are by gay men.”

“Uh huh.” Meg’s flat tone conveyed every bit of disbelief and disapproval Cas knew would be written across her face. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve dated plenty of straight men, and the shitty ones were just as intimidated by my ex-girlfriends as they were by you. The good ones were fine with both. And much as it pains me to say it, it sounds to me like your Dean-o is one of the good ones. So, are you sure there’s not something else going on?”

“Like what?” Cas shifted in his seat, waiting for Meg’s reply.

“Uh, I dunno. Ever thought maybe he’s into you?”

It was a ridiculous suggestion. “No, I’ve never thought that.”

“Well,” Meg drawled over the line. “Maybe it’s time you should.”

Cas thought about it and rejected it out of hand. “Believe me. If Dean was into me, he’d say so.”

Meg heaved a dramatic sigh. “Whatever you say, Clarence. Just don’t come crying to me when you get sick of not getting laid.”

*****

**Age 14 - Dean**

_ "Frickin' mosquitoes." Dean slapped a hand against his leg, coming away with insect guts and a tiny bit of blood on his hand, a sure sign that he'd been too slow, and he'd have a raised, itchy bite in no time. Wrinkling his nose and bending down to wipe his hand on the grass, he snuck a surreptitious glance at his friend.  _

_ Although Cas still wore dry swim trunks and a t-shirt, exposing even more skin to the evening air than Dean, who had thrown on a hoodie as the air began to cool, no miniature winged vampires plagued him. He watched the crackling bonfire with a serene look on his face. _

_ "How come they're leaving you alone?" Dean complained, sneaking another look at Cas's peaceful expression, since he hadn't been caught. He'd been doing that a lot lately, his eyes unerringly drawn to his friend, whatever he was doing. _

_ "Maybe they like your freckles," Cas said, then immediately ducked his head, as if he had said something he shouldn't.  _

_ Dean felt his cheeks flame to rival those in the firepit. "Shut up." He always got especially freckly in the summers, unless his skin was turning pink instead. Cas, on the other hand, tended to turn a warm, golden tan, another thing Dean had been unable to get off his mind since Cas had shown up at the start of the summer. _

_ "I didn't say it was bad," Cas muttered in the direction of his knees, drawing Dean's eyes to his exposed calves. Cas did track during the school year, and this summer, like so many other things, Dean had started to take notice. _

_ God, it would be embarrassing if Cas noticed Dean had a crush on him. _

_ If there was anything Dean had learned in his life, it was to deflect, deflect, deflect.  _

_ “So,” he asked, drawing the sound out, aiming for a casual tone, “I’ve been thinking. You want me to introduce you to some of the girls around here?” _

_ Cas, who had been occupied by holding the pointy end of a long stick in the flames, turning it this way and that to clean it for marshmallow roasting, cocked his head at Dean in his odd quizzical way. Dean fought down the urge to call it adorable. No way Cas would appreciate that. “Um. I guess. I would like to meet your friends.” _

_ Dean shoved his own stick in the fire, down into the glowing coals for less than a count of five, then pulled it out, shaking off the sparks and triumphantly speared a marshmallow. “No, Cas. I meant  _ girls.  _ You know”—he bounced his eyebrows suggestively—“I bet they’d be real into you, devastatingly handsome guy like you.” _

_ There was a long moment where Cas seemed to freeze like a deer in headlights. From somewhere on the lake drifted the eerie, warbling cry of a loon. Had Dean given away too much? To divert from the awkwardness, he quickly ripped his gaze away from his friend and thrust his marshmallow into the flames, though the fire was still a little high for the perfect roast. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas withdrew his own stick, propping it by his side and then ducked his head to dig methodically through the bag of identical marshmallows as if to find the perfect one. _

_ Head still ducked, Cas murmured, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He seemed to find the perfect marshmallow at last, withdrawing it and lifting his head just in time to see Dean’s burst into flames. “Dean!” _

_ “I see it. I see it!” Dean yanked the flaming marshmallow from the fire and waved it around frantically, flames painting streaks through the dark air. Finally, flames extinguished, he was left with a blackened, misshapen lump of sugar, barely clinging to the end of his stick. “Mmm, crispy. Just how I like it.” When in doubt, pretend it was intentional.  _

_ “You’re an idiot.” Cas rolled his eyes in that way of his that seemed to involve his whole body, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone. _

_ Dean grinned at him, unrepentant, as he used his fingers to pull the gooey, still-hot marshmallow off the stick and shove the whole thing in his mouth. “Ow! Hot, hot, hot! So,” with his mouth still full of sticky sugar, and his words muffled, he asked, “why a bad idea? You got a girlfriend back home?” _

_ Before Cas could answer, a response Dean was both anticipating and dreading, a voice piped up through the night, “Ew, Dean. Don’t talk with your mouth full.” From the shadows emerged ten-year-old Sam and Cas’s sister, eleven-year-old Hannah.  _

_ “Whatever, bitch,” Dean countered. “I do what I want.” _

_ “Jerk,” Sam muttered over Hannah’s scandalized gasp. “Mom says you have to share the marshmallows with us. And not to have too many or you’ll have a stomach ache.” _

_ Dean snorted. “Whatever. Have at it.” He pulled a second marshmallow from the bag and tossed the rest gently to his brother who caught it against his chest. _

_ Cas lowered his own marshmallow down towards the coals now as his sister came to sit on his other side. “Do you two have sticks?” _

_ “Aunt Amara gave us this.” Hannah brandished a two-pronged metal marshmallow-roasting rod. Dean considered that cheating, and if it had been just Cas and Sam, he would have said so, but he tried to be a little more sensitive around Cas’s sister.  _

_ Just a little. “Awww, are you two gonna share? Is Hannah your girlfriend, Sammy?” _

_ Sam stuck out his tongue at him, while Hannah stuttered out protests, but it was Cas’s murmered, “Why are you so obsessed with everyone having girlfriends?” that Dean heard. _

_ Sam obviously heard as well, because he smirked in his obnoxious younger brother way and parroted, “Yeah, Dean, why are you so obsessed with everyone having girlfriends? It’s not like you have one.” _

_ Cas pulled his (perfectly golden) marshmallow from the fire and ate it neatly, head cocked, waiting for Dean’s answer. The tip of his tongue darted out to lick the stickiness from his fingers, and Dean felt himself turn tomato red. _

_ “Shut up,” he muttered, drawing his legs in close, thankfully for the lack of light. He couldn’t very well point to Cas’s tongue and say that that right there was the reason. “I could get a girlfriend if I wanted to. Any girl at all. I’m just a free spirit; can’t be tied down.” _

_ “Uh huh,” Sam said skeptically, and Hannah giggled. “I bet you can’t get a girl to give you the time of day. In fact, I bet you all your Batman comics if you called Lisa Braeden  _ right now  _ and asked her out, she would say no. If you win, I’ll give you my allowance for the whole summer.” _

_ Dean scowled. Lisa Braedan was the prettiest girl in school, and bright and popular besides. It was fair to say that he’d been nursing a bit of a crush on her last school year, until Cas showed up for the summer and promptly knocked thoughts of anyone else out of Dean’s head. Like Cas, Lisa was out of his league, and Sam knew it. Hence the bet. _

_ “I can’t ask Lisa out now. Who would keep Cas company for the rest of the summer?” Was that a hopeful look Cas was giving him? “But,” Dean went on, pointing a finger at Sam for emphasis, “first day of school, you’re on.” If nothing else, focusing on a pretty girl would give him something to take his mind off Cas once he went back home. Plus, Dean really wanted that money. _

_ Something weird was happening to Cas’s face, Dean noticed, something scrunched up and displeased. _

_ “You alright, buddy?” _

_ Cas’s eyes flicked to him and then away. “I’m fine. Just a mosquito bite. Give me another marshmallow?” he asked, still not looking at Dean. _

*****

**Dean**

Dean had been looking forward to Pride this year. Getting to show Cas a good time was an added appeal. So their parade was small and the corporate sponsorship minimal—it was still a great event. Naturally, that meant that this was the year that things went wrong.

Dean was rifling through his drawers, looking for a t-shirt that would go with his best ass-hugging jeans—nothing fancy, but hopefully something that would make Cas sit up and take notice. Dean knew he had one or two shirts that made his biceps look amazing.

“You should wear your car-washing shorts,” Charlie had advised over the phone. “Those’ll get his attention. I got an eyeful once, and it was more of you than I ever wanted to see, but even I know they looked good on you.”

Dean groaned. He wasn’t going to be that obvious. “Might as well hang a sign around my neck saying I’m DTF. I’ve already got jeans. What shirt should I wear?”

Charlie made an exaggerated humming noise of thought over the phone, before declaring, “No shirt, just a flag as a cape.”

Dean snorted. “I’m not really a flag kind of guy, but thanks for the idea.”

“If I were there, we could do a fashion montage.”

“I think that’s more your thing than mine.” Near the bottom of his drawer, Dean found a black t-shirt that was a little on the tight side. “I think I’ve found the one, anyway.”

“Send me pictures,” Charlie said, then, “Oops. Dorothy’s here. I’ve got to go, but you have fun with Mr. Dreamy. Bye!” Without waiting for a reply, she hung up.

Dean shook his head and tossed his phone onto the end of his bed, so that he could change into his shirt of choice. As he was pulling it over his ears, his phone rang again.

“I’m not going to Pride topless,” he told Charlie as he brought the phone back up to his ear.

“Well, that’s good to know.” His mother laughed over the line, but there was a slight strain to her voice that immediately had Dean tensing up.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” He wracked his brain, trying to remember if his mom had had some kind of early morning appointment.

“It’s nothing, honey.” Mary’s voice was light. “I was just cleaning the gutters and took a little tumble.”

“What, off the roof?”

“Yes, off the roof. I just banged up my ankle a bit, but I’ll be fine. I’m over by the rain barrel. I just need you to come help me get to my car and then I can get myself to the doctor.”

“Dammit, Mom.” Already shoving his feet into his boots, Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Why the hell are you getting up on the roof? That’s what you’ve got me for. I’ll be right there,” he added, hanging up before Mary could argue that she was perfectly capable of getting up on any roof she wanted, thank you very much.

With his boots laced, Dean clattered down the stairs and out to the yard, where sure enough, he found Mary sitting in the grass with her back against the rain barrell, her legs stretched out in front of her, the right ankle already swollen and at an awkward angle, and a grimace of pain that she was trying to mask across her face. The long extending ladder lay sprawled across the grass where it had fallen.

“Right,” Dean said, taking one look at the damage. He crouched down to sling his mom’s arm over his shoulder and help her up. “One, you don’t need Dr. Gaines for that. You need to go to Kingston.” The doctor in Angel Lake was all very well and good for everyday appointments and illnesses, even if he did share a wall with the veterinarian—Dean swore he’d once been in for his annual physical and heard a horse cough in the next room. But for anything more serious—like setting a broken ankle—the nearest hospital was in Kingston, an hour and a half away. “And B, there’s no way you’re driving there. I’ll take you.”

“Sweetie, no,” Mary protested as Dean helped her hobble over to the car. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to miss Pride.”

At least Dean could say he came by his stubborn streak honestly. Rather than lead Mary to her blue ‘73 Camaro as she clearly wanted, he brought her to the passenger door of the Impala and dug his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. He held the door open pointedly. “I’m not letting you drive with a broken ankle. Get in.”

Mary finally acquiesced, sliding onto the bench seat. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one taking care of you?” she asked ruefully, buckling her seatbelt. 

Dean merely huffed a laugh. “Let me just call Donna and ask her and Jody to give Cas a ride. I’ll text him to let him know something came up.”

Mary looked troubled again, so Dean assured her, "It wasn't a date, if that's what you're thinking." Sure, Dean would have liked it to be, but while Cas had been gratifyingly happy to spend time with Dean almost every evening since he'd arrived, Dean's attempts at flirting had mostly been met with a stiff, blank expression, if not ignored entirely. Dean wasn’t ready to give up entirely; there were plenty of reasons for Cas to be hesitant other than actual disinterest—he was new to town, after all. But Dean could take a hint, too, and he wasn’t going to push things if Cas didn’t reciprocate.

As expected, Donna was happy to give Cas a lift. "The girls are going in Claire's car, so there'll be plenty of room," she assured him. She expressed her concern for Mary, who grabbed the phone from Dean to insist that she was fine, and then they said their goodbyes so that Dean could text Cas.

_ Hey, sorry, can't make it to Pride,  _ he typed.  _ Jody and Donna will give you a ride instead. _

They were about ten minutes down the road when Dean felt the buzz of an answering text against his thigh, but it wasn't until an hour and a half later, once he had helped his mom hobble into the emergency room at Kingston General and she was filling out her paperwork, that he was able to check it.

Cas's text was preceded by a confused emoticon.  _ I hadn't realized that we were driving up together,  _ he said, and Dean cringed as he realized he had never made that clear. Oops.  _ I had planned to drive myself, but I'll be happy to have Jody and Donna's company. Thank you. _ He finished the text with a smiley face emoticon and a thumbs up.

What a dork, Dean thought _. _

_ Hope you have a great time,  _ he wrote, and followed it with a Pride flag.

It was a long day. He and his mom settled in to wait while other, more urgent cases were handled, then Dean waited some more while Mary was taken in for x-rays. 

Unsurprisingly, her ankle was indeed broken, and Dean was left once again cooling his heels in the waiting room while the bone was set and a cast applied. He did insist on being present for the aftercare instructions and discharge process, because if he knew his mom, she'd try to throw herself back into active work long before she was healed.

At last, Dean was allowed to pull the Impala around to the hospital doors and help Mary into the passenger seat. He stowed the crutches she'd been given in the trunk, and they pulled out into the late afternoon sunshine to begin the long drive back to Angel Lake.

Dean was helping Mary out of the car when Jody and Donna's truck pulled up in Castiel's drive. Jody and Donna climbed out to greet them, followed by a sun-kissed Cas. Donna had bright rainbow flags painted on both cheeks and even no-nonsense Jody sported a few strings of colourful plastic beads and a bright smile.

"Hey Dean." She waved. "We missed you at Pride this year."

"That would be my fault," Mary called out with a grimace, leaning heavily on the crutches Dean fetched from the trunk for her. "Thought I'd get up on the roof to clean the gutters out and did my ankle in." 

Dean caught a look of surprise flash across Cas's face.

"I keep telling her that's what she's got me for," Dean said, "but she still insists on doing these things."

"Hey, I'm not an old lady yet." Mary laughed, but then admitted, "I could use a few more of those painkillers, though. Give me a hand getting inside, sweetie?"

"I'd better take her up on that. This may be the only time she lets me help out." Dean winked at Cas. "Sorry again for ducking out on you. I was looking forward to showing you a good time today. I hope you still had fun. All of you," he added, belatedly including Donna and Jody. 

"I had a good time," Cas said. "But I'll let you help your mom for now. We'll talk later?"

"We will," Dean agreed, and was rewarded by the way Cas's eyes crinkled at the corners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cicada story is true. My family was hiking in Goderich when I was a child, and out of nowhere, my mother let out a bloodcurdling screech, because a cicada had dropped straight down the back of her shirt. I have never heard her make a similar noise before or since.


	5. Chapter 5

**Cas**

Cas had been disappointed but unsurprised when he received Dean's text, cancelling on Pride. He hadn't been expecting Dean to go, assuming that any suggestion that he might had simply been him being polite. He  _ had  _ been slightly surprised that Dean had gone out of his way to secure a ride for Cas—as if Dean had believed they'd made concrete plans.

The celebration had been fun. The crowds were nowhere near the size of those in Toronto, but that wasn't a bad thing. The atmosphere had been bright and upbeat, with music playing and colourful flags and far more happy, open couples than Castiel had ever expected, this far from a city. Dean had been right to call him out on making assumptions, Cas thought ruefully.

Even though he hadn't truly expected Dean to come, he still missed his presence. It was just that he'd become so used to it, he assured himself. It brought home just how much time they'd been spending together—pretty much anytime Cas wasn't writing or tending his bees, in fact.

But Dean or no Dean, Cas found himself having a good time. Jody and Donna were warm and friendly and happy to get to know their new neighbour a little better and make sure he was enjoying himself. Claire and Kaia joined them for part of the afternoon, too, and it was remarkable to see the softening effect quiet Kaia had on the prickly Claire, who gazed at her when she thought no one was looking as if she had hung the moon.

After the parade, Claire and Kaia had taken off to meet up with some friends, and Cas, Donna, and Jody had made their way over to the Chipmunk Chippery fry truck for onion rings and deep fried pickles, and questions about his books and his bees that Cas was happy to talk about.

It was late afternoon when they piled back into the truck, cheerful and sweaty from the long day in the sun. As luck would have it, they'd arrived at Cas's home just in time to see Dean and Mary arriving home—from the hospital where she'd been having her broken ankle set. And, from the way Jody had greeted Dean, it seemed like she and Donna  _ had  _ fully expected Dean to be at Pride—that perhaps, he went every year.

He'd been making assumptions again, Cas thought with a twinge of guilt. But he didn't understand. He hadn't imagined the uncomfortable reactions Dean had tried to hide, but how to reconcile those with the things he was learning about Dean?

It was commendable that Dean would make the effort to work past his discomfort Unfortunately, that effort only added to his appeal.

Cas was dangerously close to falling for a man he couldn’t have, all over again.

Correction, he thought the next Saturday, as he watched Dean flirt outrageously with Mildred over his display of dark amber, sticky-sweet syrup, he was already there.

“Oh you charmer.” Mildred laughed her delighted laugh, eyes twinkling. “If I were twenty years younger or you didn’t have this handsome young thing…”

Cas watched as Dean went from smoothly flirtatious to discomposed in mere seconds, pink flushing up his cheeks to his ears, and gaping at Cas like an—unfairly good-looking—fish. “I, uh. That is…Dammit, Mildred,” he seemed to recover himself with a rueful chuckle. “If only, I were so lucky, eh, Cas?” 

He finished up with a broad wink in Cas’s direction. Cas pursed his lips, looking away and pretending not to have heard.

This was why it was dangerous to fall for Dean.

Too late.

*****

**Dean**

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Dean groused over the sound of the alien cantina band. Star Wars night might be a sacred part of Charlie's long-weekend visits, but this time Dean had other things on his mind. It wasn't as if either of them was in danger of forgetting how the movie went if they talked through it. "It's like every time I'm around him, I forget how to be smooth, and I just trip all over myself. He's nice enough to humour me, but it's pretty clear he doesn't like me the way I like him."

Charlie swiped the remote from the table, hitting pause. At Dean's mild noise of protest, she admonished, "Star Wars can wait; You've got boy problems, and as your bestie, it's my sacred duty to resolve them. So: what makes you think he doesn't like you?"

“Ugh, you know.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “We hang out all the time, and it’s great, but he gets this look on his face sometimes, especially when I try to flirt like”—Dean scrunched up his face in his best imitation of Cas’s squinty-eyed scowl—“except hot. It’s pretty obvious he wants me to stop, but I can’t help myself.”

Charlie eyed him speculatively for a long moment, then at last asked, “Are you sure he knows you’re flirting?”

Dean spluttered. “How could he not know?” If the way he foisted his company on Cas every chance he got over these past few weeks wasn’t clue enough, surely the way he caught himself all too frequently watching the shape of Cas’s mouth was a dead giveaway.

“We-eeeeeell,” Charlie drew out the word. “You are pretty bad at flirting with men.”

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean was an awesome flirt, if he did say so himself.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Aaron. Benny. Elliot. Hell,Victor full on thought you wanted to fight him."

"Okay, okay." Dean grimaced. "Touché." So maybe, smooth as he could be with women, men he was attracted to never seemed to pick up on that unless he straight out told them. "So, you're saying that he's not flirting back because he hasn't noticed I'm flirting in the first place? Sounds fake." But damn did he want to believe it.

"You won't know until you ask him. Or at least until I see the two of you together." She smiled impishly. "When Is that going to happen, by the way?"

"Tomorrow," Dean promised. “We're having a barbecue for Canada Day, and then we're gonna take Cas's aunt's pontoon boat out on the lake to watch the fireworks." Amara wasn't at her cottage for the holiday this year, but she'd given Cas permission to put her boat to use, so long as Dean or someone else with a boating licence drove. The fireworks were let off in an empty field behind the Legion, and the view from the lake was spectacular.

"Awesome," Charlie said. "Tomorrow, I observe. But for now, Star Wars." Grabbing a handful of popcorn in one hand, she picked up the remote in the other and hit play.

Dean stifled a groan.

*****

Dean thought about Charlie’s theory through the rest of the evening and all the next day. He thought about it especially when Cas bumped his shoulder, standing too close—and not close enough—while Dean flipped Patience’s veggie burger. He was sipping on a cocktail, some ridiculous, fruit-laden monstrosity, courtesy of Charlie, who had taken over Amara’s usual bartending duties in Cas’s aunt’s absence this year.

“How is it?” Dean nodded to the drink. 

Cas made a face. “Strong. And very sweet. The combination of flavours is interesting at least.” 

Dean laughed. “That sounds like Charlie. Luckily, I have an excuse to avoid her experiments.” He lifted his own bottle of beer. “I’ve gotta drive the boat later, so I’m pacing myself. But I’m glad to see the two of you getting along.”

There had been a tense moment earlier, when Castiel and Charlie had first been introduced, something strange and standoffish in Cas’s behaviour, which Dean hadn’t been able to suss out before being called away to stop his mother from standing on a patio chair to erect the giant lawn umbrella. By the time Dean had found the pair again, whatever it was had blown over and they were chatting like old friends.

“I can see why you’re friends with her,” Cas said now. “She’s very...” He seemed at a loss for a word to adequately describe Charlie.

“A regular ray of sunshine. She’s good people,” Dean agreed. “And she’s been itching to meet you.”

“Me?” Cas looked faintly startled and perplexed. “Does she read my books, too?”

“Not that I know of. Charlie’s more of a Sci Fi-Fantasy kind of girl. But, uh”—Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, feeling the colour rise in his face—”I talk about you a lot, so that’s why.”

“Oh.” Far from looking uncomfortable, as Dean half expected Cas to, if he truly wanted Dean to back off, instead Cas looked flattered and softly surprised, his mouth opening gently in a way that Dean wanted to kiss. But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was the voice inside of Dean, telling him that maybe, just maybe, Charlie was right. 

Maybe he had a chance.

Hours later, as the pontoon boat rocked gently on the lake and fireworks burst overhead with noisy bangs, Dean was still breathless with the possibility. 

They were all packed on the boat - Dean and Charlie and Mary, Jody and Donna, Patience, Alex, Claire, Kaia, all cheerful and smelling of bug spray. And Cas, squeezed onto the driver’s bench with Dean, his face tilted towards the sky, a peaceful smile on his features.

A rocket burst overhead, showering sparks of gold and blue down onto the darkened lake. But Dean’s attention wasn’t on the sky. It was caught, instead, on the way Cas’s features were illuminated by the cascading lights, tracing over the planes and curves of his face. 

He was beautiful.

_ And Dean might have a chance. _

*****

In the end, it took liquid courage for Dean to broach the subject with Cas. And he didn’t so much broach the subject as kiss him with no warning. 

It didn’t go well.

Dean had brought Cas out fishing at dusk, just the two of them in his boat. It was the perfect setting, the lake stretched out and glassy smooth around them, verdant trees stretching up around them on shore and reflecting in the water, a perfect cocoon. The sky was mostly clear but for a few high, streaky clouds painted red with the fading light of the sun. It was beautiful, the stuff of romance novels, and yet Dean found himself unable to speak.

What if Cas didn’t reciprocate, he reasoned. What if Dean made his clumsy confession of feelings and Cas turned him down but was still stuck out here in this little boat, until Dean brought them back to shore.

Better to wait, Dean decided. He cast his line out to the side, watching it fly with a stoney face and unseeing eyes.

“Dean?” Cas asked after reeling his own line back in and preparing to cast again. “Is everything alright?”

“Peachy,” Dean grunted, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas’s lips tugged downwards. He sighed. “I’m fine, Cas, really. Just thinking.” He offered a small half-smile to throw him off the scent.

Cas watched him with narrowed eyes, trying to discern the truth of what was bothering Dean. “Would you like to talk about it?”

_ Casual. Aim for casual.  _ “Nah, Cas. It’s nothing. Promise.”

Cas’s expression clearly read a dubious,  _ If you’re sure,  _ but he let it drop, and they resumed fishing in peace.

The problem with being out on the water was that the bugs didn’t stay away too long. When Dean had to smack his neck for the fourth time in ten minutes, crushing the mosquito that had been whining in his ear, Cas suggested they head back to shore.

“Yeah, alright,” Dean agreed, shaking the corpse of the tiny bloodsucker off his hand with a scowl. They hadn’t caught anything, but then, that hadn’t been Dean’s purpose in coming out here anyway—not that he’d achieved his true purpose either.

“The mosquitos always did like you best,” Cas remarked with the hint of a fond chuckle in his voice. “We’ll have a drink back at my place when we get in.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, and it did. Maybe with a hint of the nice honey whiskey Cas kept on hand running through his veins he’d be able to make his move. “I like a man with a plan.” With a cheesy wink Cas completely failed to pick up on—cementing Charlie’s theory that Cas really didn’t know Dean was flirting with him—Dean stowed his fishing rod. “Let’s head in.”

Cas set aside his own rod and settled into his seat. Dean leaned over and started the motor.

The dock was lit up with colourful plastic lanterns, helping them navigate their way in. Without needing to be told, Cas clipped the mooring rope to the metal ring that kept it beside the dock. With a hand on the weathered wood, Dean held the boat steady while Cas climbed out. Cas, in turn, offered Dean a hand, and while Dean had been climbing in and out of boats all his life and didn't need the help, he still took it, secretly enjoying the clasp of Cas's large, strong hand around his own. 

Once the fishing gear was safely away and the lanterns off, they made their way towards the warm yellow glow of the lamp on Cas's porch. He let them in, switching on the indoor lights as they went, and soon they were ensconced at either end of his well-worn leather couch, glasses of liquor in their hands.

The thing about Cas was that with him, it was easy to just be. Whether they were trading reminiscences of their childhood summers or sipping their drinks in comfortable silence, Dean felt himself relaxing, letting his worries about confessing his feelings for Cas drift away, far more interested in the here and now.

It was halfway into his second drink that Dean noticed they were no longer sitting on opposite ends of the couch. In fact, when he’d gotten up to refresh their glasses, Cas had sat back down in what could only be considered Dean’s personal space. 

Dean took a moment to really look at him, watching him over the rim of his glass while he finished his drink. Cas, with his earnest blue eyes, his tanned skin looking golden in the yellow lamplight, his dark hair ruffling slightly in the breeze from the fan. He was gorgeous, and oh so familiar, as if those eighteen years since their last summer together had been the mere blink of an eye.

_ Do it now,  _ his mind said, and Dean agreed. 

Without looking, he reached to the side, neatly placing his empty glass on one of Cas’s coasters. Cas looked at him curiously, his head tilted slightly to one side, and Dean leaned in, one hand raising to brush against the rough texture of Cas’s stubble. Without giving himself time to hesitate or rethink it, he pressed his mouth to Cas’s, saying more than he ever could with words.

For just a moment, Cas seemed to kiss back, his lips parting and giving beneath Dean's, but then his mouth was gone and his hand was against Dean's chest, pushing firmly and forcing him to take a step back.

"Dean, Cas asked, voice rough, eyes wide and wary, "what are you doing?"

_ Shit.  _ He'd miscalculated big time. "Kinda thought that was obvious," Dean muttered, feeling his walls come up. Cas squinted at him like he didn't know what to make of him, and Dean retreated further under that gaze.

"This can't happen," Cas was saying. "Dean, I can't do this."

Dean resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders up further. "Yeah, I got that. Sorry I misread things; won't happen again."

"What  _ were _ you thinking?" Cas asked, and  _ that _ rankled. Sure, Cas was out of his league, but there was nothing wrong with Dean that he should merit that reaction.

"Ouch, Cas." Dean sneered. "Tell me how you really feel."

Cas looked like he'd been slapped. He seemed to have realized that his words had cut. "Dean, I didn't mean—"

"Save it," Dean muttered. "I'm gonna go. See you around, Cas."

******

**Cas**

"Wait. Dean—" But Dean was already gone, the screen door swinging closed in his wake. 

With a sigh, Cas stepped over to pull it properly closed, latching it against the evening bugs.

What had just happened? He didn't understand any of it. If there was one thing he could say with any certainty, it was that he'd never expected Dean to try and kiss him.

Dean was straight. Cas had been unwavering in his conviction on that. Dean had been dating girls since he was fourteen years old, and there had always been his faint, disguised discomfort with Cas's sexuality.

Unless Cas had been misinterpreting Dean's discomfort all along. Maybe Dean had been uncomfortable not because  _ Cas  _ was queer, but because Dean himself had started feeling attraction to him, when he had never been attracted to a man before.

The kiss argued in favour of that theory.

But what could Cas do about it? If Dean had built up the courage to act on his attraction, to kiss him, would it be so wrong of Cas to pursue it, to encourage Dean to explore his attraction—their mutual attraction?

But of course it would. It hadn't escaped Cas's memory that he and Dean had been drinking before Dean had made his move. High alcohol tolerance or not, would Dean really have acted on his new feelings if there had been no whiskey involved?

Castiel couldn't risk the answer being no. And he couldn't stomach the idea of being Dean's experiment. Despite his best intentions, his own feelings were too involved.

"You assbutt," he muttered to himself. 

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall for Dean again, that he was smarter than his teenage self, that they could be simply friends, as they had been when they were children, before puberty had stirred up all those impossible feelings. He’d meant it, too, but there was something about Dean that was so magnetic, so compelling.

Of course Cas had fallen for him despite himself.

And now Dean had kissed him.

He didn’t know what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Age 16 - Cas**

_Early morning_ _sunlight glinted off the peaceful waters of Angel Lake, the sky still tinged pink. Cas sipped on coffee out of a plaid-printed thermos from the Winchester kitchen, then passed it over to Dean, who accepted it without looking, attention focused on where the faintest of ripples fanned out around his fishing bobber. Cas tried not to think about Dean’s lips being where his own had just been._

_ Cas took the thermos when Dean passed it back, capping it and leaning to the side to place it next to his chair on the worn wood of the dock. He straightened up, pulling his legs up onto the chair with him with his arms wrapped around them and his chin resting on his knees. _

_ "This is nice." _

_ Dean hummed in agreement. It was rare for Cas to see him up and about this early—usually, Dean was like a bear in the mornings—but on this occasion, it was Dean who had woken Cas, seemingly bright eyed and bushy tailed at the prospect of some early morning fishing. _

_ "Here," Dean offered. "You want a try? Hold this, and I'll get another line ready. If you feel something tugging, just reel it in." _

_ Cas hesitated to take the rod from Dean. "I don't have a fishing licence." _

_ Dean made a dismissive noise. "It's Free Fishing Weekend. And anyway, if anyone asks, we can just say anything you catch is mine. C’mon, Cas. Live a little." _

_ “Alright, alright,” Cas conceded with a laugh, straightening his legs back out to sit properly in his chair. He accepted the rod, trying not to notice when Dean’s strong fingers brushed against his own.  _

_ “There you go,” Dean said with a grin in his voice. “You rebel, you.” _

_ Cas settled back, letting his line dangle in the water, while Dean busied himself with setting up a new one beside him. _

_ “There. Done.” Dean’s voice was satisfied, as he sat up straighter and cast the line out over the water in a long, arcing flash. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, letting his right knee nudge against Cas’s left. “Now this is the perfect way to spend a morning.” _

_ Cas, stealing a glance at the way the early morning sun gilded Dean’s face and the lines of his body, couldn’t help but silently agree.  _

_ Well, he could think of one other thing. Cas’s thoughts wandered again to that indirect kiss of sharing the thermos. What would it be like to kiss Dean for real? _

_ He would be tender, Cas decided. Dean liked to believe that he was tough, but Cas had seen his softer side plenty over the years, in the way he talked to his mom, the way he teased Sam, in the way he treated Cas himself. There was no doubt in Cas’s mind that anyone fortunate enough to be kissed by Dean would feel as if they were the most precious thing in the world. _

_ “Hey, buddy, you with me?” Dean’s voice cut through Cas’s drifting thoughts. “I think you’ve got a bite.” _

_ Cas startled. Sure enough, there was a tugging on the end of his line, the tip of the rod dipping downwards as the line was yanked taut. _

_ “Reel it in,” Dean was saying, and Cas obeyed, reeling over and over until at last the fish popped free of the water, thrashing in the air as it objected to its new surroundings. _

_ “Look at that!” Dean’s voice was full of pride. “Looks like you got a rock bass. I wish I’d thought to grab a camera, but don’t worry, I’ll remember this. Hold it up?” _

_ “Like this?” Cas awkwardly tried to get a grip on the slippery creature. _

_ “Yeah, that’ll do.” Dean made a frame with his hands, centering Cas and his prize. “There, got it.” _

_ “What do I do with it?” _

_ It turned out the fish was too small to keep, or so Dean declared. Cas was just as happy to let Dean do the work of carefully extricating the hook from the fish’s mouth. _

_ “Sorry, big guy,” Dean said to the fish. “You just wanted breakfast and got an unexpected piercing instead.” He flashed a bright grin at Cas, and then, having worked the hook free, gently let the fish slip back into the water. “And there you go. We’ll make a fisherman of you, yet, Cas. Now come on, cast again. Maybe you’ll get something good for eating next time.” _

_ They continued fishing as the sun crept up higher in the sky and the heat began to rise. Finally, as they cast for the final time before packing it in, Dean spoke up.  _

_ “Hey, you know what would be fun?” _

_ “Hm?” Cas asked. _

_ “We should go skinnydipping.” _

_ “Anyone could see us!” _

_ “Not right now. And not here.” Dean laughed, loud and bright. “You should see the look on your face. I know a place. We’ll go at night. Friday’s the full moon. It’ll be awesome.” _

_ Cas was not so sure it would be awesome. No doubt, Dean meant that he would invite some girls—he’d already casually asked if Cas had finally gotten a girlfriend, and once again suggested introducing him to the local girls, as he had for the last few summers. As if being naked in front of his crush wouldn’t be bad enough, Cas couldn’t imagine doing so with an audience. _

_ “I don’t know,” he evaded. “I don’t know any of your friends. I don’t want them to see me naked.” _

_ “No friends, then,” Dean promised. “It’ll just be the two of us, and I don’t care what you look like naked.” Which was half the problem, wasn’t it? “Come on, you already fished without a license. What’s a little more rebellion?”  _

_ He waggled his eyebrows at Cas, and Cas, as it turned out, was a sucker, at least when Dean looked so pleased with himself. _

_ “Alright,” he agreed, already feeling a mixed thrill of dread and, despite himself, anticipation. _

_ He wondered what Dean was getting out of it. _

*****

**Age 16 - Dean**

_ “Come on, Cas.” Dean laughed. Somewhere a loon laughed too, wild and whooping like Dean’s heart felt, when he thought about what he had talked Cas into. _

_ “The moon’s very bright,” Cas observed dubiously, though he gamely followed along behind Dean anyway. _

_ “That’s a good thing. Means we can see where we’re going. I promise, I know a spot. No one will be able to see us.” _

_ Dean couldn’t believe he’d talked Cas into going skinny dipping with him. This was either a genius move or the dumbest thing he’d ever done. _

_ “Have you ever done this before?” Cas asked, as Dean pushed aside the branch of a flimsy pine tree and picked his way over the rocks that led to the hidden little cove he was aiming for. The white bark of the handful of birch trees seemed to glow in the moonlight, and there, the full moon glinted off the dark water. _

_ “Sure I have.” After Sam’s dare the summer Dean was fourteen, he’d asked Lisa out on the first day of school and been surprised when she’d said yes. They’d dated on and off for about a year and a half, until they’d finally decided it wasn’t working. He’d brought her out here once last June and—after a summer-long breakup—once last September before it got too cold. Lisa had been a good sport about it, as she was about most things, and it had been a fun—and  _ educational— _ experience.  _

_ There was something different, though, about going skinny dipping with your girlfriend, who you were allowed to ogle openly—and who might even let you get your hands on her under the water—and skinny dipping with a boy you were secretly kind of into. _

_ Part of Dean thrilled at the thought, though part hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak some glances at Cas to fuel his imagination when he was alone in his room later. He didn't kid himself that he'd be brave enough to make a move. Luckily the white light of the moon washed out the blush he could feel in his cheeks. _

_ He glanced over at Cas who was standing a few feet back from the water, watching him, waiting for his cue. _

_ Right, Dean was gonna have to be the one to initiate this. Face hot, he turned away, stripping his shirt off over his head and letting it fall onto a mossy rock. His hands went to the button of his jeans, and he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, just in time to catch a glimpse of Cas's sharp hipbones as he pulled his own t-shirt over his head, ruffling his already perpetually messy hair. Dean turned his head hastily away. _

_ It was less than Dean saw of Cas when he wore swim trunks, even, but out here, alone in the moonlight, it felt different, and to his horror, he felt himself start to chub up. _

_ Breathing deep through his nose, Dean thought about the most disgusting things he could think of, until he got himself back under control. Only then did he pop the button and lower his fly. He dropped his jeans to the ground and before he could think any further, shoved down his boxers in one go, and waded into the water, flinching at the cold and calling out over his shoulder, “Come on in, Cas. The water’s fine.” _

_ Dean waded in until the water was halfway up his chest before he finally turned around - and promptly got an eyeful of Cas’s pebbled nipples and the one little freckle beside the right one. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Cas’s face, and for one long moment, they stood there in the water, too close for personal space, Dean far too aware of his own nakedness, and Cas’s. Without intending it, the tip of Dean’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, and for a split second, he thought he felt Cas’s eyes follow the movement, but then Cas blinked and looked away. A second later, Cas was plunging under the water, coming up some feet away and shaking his head like a hairy dog to make the droplets fly. _

_ “Come on in, Dean,” he repeated Dean’s words back at him. “The water’s fine.” _

_ Somehow the awkwardness was chased away after that, and an hour later they were sneaking back down the dirt road, tired, their clothes plastered to their wet skin, and wide grins splitting their faces. As they came to the low wood fence that marked the boundary of the Mills property and Dean’s family’s, they were caught up short by the sound of distant shouting. Dean frowned, and they instinctively took a step closer to each other. _

_ Shoulders brushing, they crept along more quietly now, and when they rounded the headland, they could see the lights of Cas’s Aunt Amara’s place blazing out through the plate glass windows, illuminating the lake and silhouetting the shapes of people milling around as the shouting grew in volume. _

_ Dean cast a concerned glance at Cas, who shook his head, and hurried forward, not bothering with stealth now.  _

_ “There you are, Castiel,” his mother snapped as he and Dean crossed the lawn. The back of the minivan was open, and she was in the process of stowing her leather suitcases. In the main window, Dean could see Chuck and Amara DeCoeur squaring off against each other, the source of the shouting. “Go pack your things. We’re leaving.” _

_ Dean put a staying hand on Cas’s shoulder, as Cas said, “But it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?” _

_ Naomi ignored his question. “You didn’t seem to mind what time it was when you were sneaking around in the woods. Say goodbye to Dean and go get your things.” _

_ Naomi was not the sort of parent you disobeyed. Cas bit his lip. “Yes, Mom,” he said at last, turning his sad blue eyes on Dean. The urge to hug Cas was strong, but under Naomi’s quelling eye, Dean’s nerve failed him.  _

_ “Bye, Cas,” he said. “I’ll see you when this is all sorted out?” _

_ “Of course,” Cas promised. _

_ Within half an hour, Dean watched the DeCoeur minivan drive away into the night, hoping that by next week Cas would be back. _

_ He wasn’t. _

*****

**Dean**

Normally by July, Amara DeCoeur had been up to Angel Lake several times, starting Victoria Day weekend and returning every couple weeks for a few days, before coming up for Canada Day and settling in for the summer. That hadn't been the case this year. Between Cain settling in with her, a trip to Reno with a retiring co-worker, and a conference in Iceland at the beginning of July, she didn't come up until a week after Dean's ill-fated attempt at kissing Cas.

It had been an uncomfortable week. Dean hadn't realized just how central Cas had become to his life in two short months, until suddenly they were avoiding each other. His friends and his mom had displayed uncharacteristic tact in not mentioning his sudden availability, but evenings with them weren't enough to keep his mind from dwelling on Cas's rejection.

_ "I can't do this."  _ What did that even mean?

He'd caught Cas's eye once or twice across the stretch of their yards. Cas had raised his hand in a tentative wave, and Dean had managed a nod and a grim half-smile, but hadn't approached.

Saturday found them back at the farmers market, sitting at their adjacent booths. Cas had made an attempt at a friendly overture, but his discomfort had been obvious in his manner and Dean had shut him down.

"Forget about it," he'd grunted. "I crossed a line. Let's just worry about selling."

Castiel had pressed his lips together, turning his attention back to setting up his display of honey jars. "Very well, it's forgotten."

"Look." Dean sighed, because he couldn't quite leave it at that. "I'm sorry, okay? I should've respected your boundaries, or whatever."

At that, Cas looked at him in some surprise. "It's not a problem." His voice was softer. "I appreciate the apology."

"Yeah, well—" Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, not sure what else to say. Luckily, at that moment, a pair of older ladies approached Cas's booth, grabbing his attention, and moments later, a young family approached Dean.

They didn't attempt anything beyond impersonal chit-chat before the end of the day, when they packed up their separate cars and headed back out of town. 

As luck would have it, they pulled out of the parking lot at almost the same moment, and the Impala ended up tailing Cas's little blue car all the way home.

As they rounded the curve that led to their shallow bay, Dean noted the afternoon sun glinting off the highly-polished Bentley parked in front of Cas's aunt's cottage. And there, crossing the gravel road to Cas's place as Dean pulled into his own driveway, one door down from Cas, was Amara herself, her arms extended to hug Cas, who was already climbing out of his own car.

Dean watched them hug out of the corner of his eye. They were saying something to each other that he couldn't hear, while he occupied himself with unloading his car, but then Amara was waving and calling out, "Dean Winchester, get over here."

Dean went. She was unconventional, sure, but he liked Amara. As a child, he'd really only known her as Cas's aunt, and in his twenties, he'd been intimidated by her, especially when she and her friends from the university got a bit raucous—and flirtatious—after getting into the vodka. But he'd gotten to know her as an adult, and she was a pretty cool lady, forthright and slyly funny in a way that reminded him of Cas.

“Welcome back,” Dean greeted as he ambled over. “We’ve missed you around here.”

“It’s good to be back,” Amara agreed. “I always love it in Angel Lake. I’d hoped to be here earlier to help my favourite nephew settle in, but I trusted you to have that in hand.” She winked. “It’s so lovely to see the two of you back together again, just like when you were children.”

“It’s been nice to have him around again,” Dean muttered, not looking at Cas. It  _ was,  _ awkwardness from Dean’s fuckup aside.

“Cain come up with you?”

The light, airy wrap Amara wore over her dress fluttered in the breeze off the lake. “Of course. You know him; he’s already taken the truck off to raid Home Hardware.” There was a fondness to the set of her mouth, and Dean wondered how it had taken him so long to realize the older pair were a couple. It seemed so obvious now that he knew to look.

“He’ll be back this evening, though,” Amara went on, “and happy to see you. Both of you. We’re having you over for drinks tonight, no arguments. Come over after dinner. Mary, too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. And bring that famous seven-layer dip of yours, too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean replied with a grin. He chanced a glance over at Cas, who looked a little shellshocked. It seemed that in the years since he had last seen his aunt in person, he had forgotten her tendency to steamroller right through and get what she wanted. “Did you hear that Mom broke her ankle?”

“I hadn’t,” Amara admitted. “I bet Mary hates having to take it easy.”

“You’re telling me!”

“Well, all the more reason to have her over and get some drinks in her. Be there at eight. You too, Castiel.”

“Yes, Aunt Amara,” Cas replied. 

Dean grinned despite himself.

*****

At eight, Dean and Mary made their way across the grass and gravel road towards Amara’s large, glass-fronted cottage, Mary swinging ahead on her crutches as if traversing the smoothest, most even ground, instead of the rutted road. Dean, with his good Pyrex dish filled with seven-layer dip, followed more slowly behind. 

Amara called out in response to their knock and Mary let herself in, using a crutch to hold the door for Dean, who caught it and pulled it shut behind him, keeping the bugs out. One moth did manage to follow him in, fluttering drunkenly around the pendant light over the honey-coloured wood of the kitchen table.

Cas was already there when they arrived and had seemingly been drafted into helping his aunt mix drinks while Cain finished up the last of the supper dishes.

“Mary, welcome!” Amara hurried over to give her a hug, working around Mary’s crutches and the pair of bright red Caesars in her hands. Her silky low-cut blouse was in sharp contrast to the simple tank top Mary wore and the no-nonsense plaid tied around her waist, but the two women were old friends.

Mary stubbornly refused help in getting herself situated at the kitchen table, though she did acquiesce politely when Cain took her crutches to prop out of the way in a corner, and accepted the drink Amara set before her.

“Everyone’s so determined to treat me like I’m fragile,” she laughed, “but I’m getting around just fine.” She took a sip of her drink. “This is delicious.”

“Here.” Cas appeared at Dean’s elbow where he still stood in the doorway, procuring a glass of something amber coloured. “Rye and ginger. I know how you feel about Caesars.”

Dean gave a shudder. “Clams are meant to be eaten, not drunk. No amount of booze makes Clamato juice okay, Cas.” 

Despite the awkwardness between them, he was rewarded by the way Cas’s nose and the corners of his eyes crinkled up as he held in a laugh. “So you’ve said.” He took a sip of his own drink—the same as Dean’s—and gestured towards the table where the older generation were gathering. “Shall we?”

Playing cards with his mom and the neighbours wasn’t exactly what a younger Dean would have considered a rolicking good time, but it was the simple things that make life worth living. The drinks were cold, the company good, and even Cas was beginning to relax around Dean for the first time since that ill-advised kiss.

Or at least he was, until Cain was shuffling the cards to deal a new hand and Amara remarked casually, “You know, I’m surprised the two of you aren’t an item by now.”

Dean could practically feel the air go still around Cas, and he tried to laugh it off, saying, “You know Cas can do better than me.”

“You have many excellent qualities, Dean,” Cas said quietly. Which,  _ what the hell _ ?

Dean couldn’t quite keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice as he quipped, “Oh, yeah, that must be why I have men and women beating down my door.”

“Well, I know for a fact, Mildred Baker would love to take you for a spin.” Cain raised a bushy eyebrow at him as he dealt out the cards. “Or this one for that matter.” He nodded his head at Amara.

She laughed loudly. “What can I say? If I were twenty years younger…” 

Mary snickered and Dean gave his mother the stink eye for his betrayal.

“Don’t worry, honey.” Amara picked up her cards and examined them. “It’s not just us cougars who admire you. That Aaron of yours is our neighbour in Kingston now, you know, and I know he’d jump at the chance to get back together with you. I’m still rooting for my nephew, but I know the heart wants what it wants. I could give Mr. Bass a nudge back in your direction.” For all Amara air of sophistication, her wink was as awkward as any of Cas’s, a trait that marked them as family. 

“I appreciate it.” Dean rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “But he’s an ex for a reason, thanks.”

Beside him, Cas had gone strangely still and quiet, his eyes fixed far too unerringly on his cards. 

“Cas.” Dean gave him a nudge with his elbow. “You okay there?”

“Hmm? Oh!” Cas looked up with an oddly strained smile. “Yes, of course I am. Whose play is it?”

*****

**Cas**

Cas kept up the appearance of being sociable for the rest of the evening, but his mind was whirling, putting this new information into perspective. 

It was pretty unambiguous. There was no way to misinterpret.

Dean had dated a man. Maybe more. He hadn’t been embarrassed or cagey or anything else about that fact. And his mother had known. Amara and Cain, his neighbours, had known. None of them had so much as batted an eye.

Which meant Dean was out.

Which meant he hadn’t been experimenting.

Which meant…

Which meant Cas was an idiot.

Once the final hand was played and the points tallied up, Mary was declared the winner.

“That’s how you do it,” Mary declared with a laugh, accepting the congratulations that were her due. “I’m sure you’re tired from the drive up,” she said to Amara and Cain. “We’ll get out of your hair once I’ve finished my drink.” She held up her mostly finished Caesar. “Thanks for the invitation and the booze.”

“No, thank  _ you _ .” Amara drained the last of her own drink, setting it down with only the celery stick and the spices on the rim remaining. “It’s good to be back up here, even if we are a little late this year. And thank you, Dean, for keeping up the place now that Cain’s down in Kingston with me.”

Cas looked at Dean in some surprise. When did he have time? “I didn’t know you were doing that. I could help out, too.”

“Uh, sure. If you want.” Dean’s tone was unsure in a way that Cas winced to hear. If Dean was out, then it was likely he had actually intended that kiss—and Cas had rejected him.

Had he actually hurt him? It wasn’t a nice feeling.

As everyone finished up their drinks and said their goodbyes, making plans for later in the week, Cas took his chance and touched Dean lightly on the arm. “When we’re done here, would you come back to my place? I think we need to talk.”

Dean gave him a wary look, but agreed. “Sure,” he said after a long moment. “But let me help Mom get home first.”

Mary overheard him. “I’m fine. I get around pretty good on these crutches. Go talk to Cas, and I’ll put the porchlight on for you.”

Disgruntled, but obviously deciding not to argue with Mary about her limits, Dean gave in. “Alright then, Cas. Lead the way. Good to see you, Amara, Cain.”

Cas and Dean submitted one after the other to Amara’s hugs, and then they were stepping out onto the wide wooden porch in the humid night air.

When they were halfway up the little rise towards Cas’s front door, Dean cleared his throat. “So,” he said, and then waited pointedly.

Cas pressed his breath out between his teeth, unsure where to start. “Give me a minute?” he asked. “At least until we get inside.”

In the end, buying himself that extra time wasn’t actually all that helpful. The door shut behind Dean as he and Cas stepped into Cas’s living room, and Cas found himself blurting, “You’re gay.”

Dean gave him a bemused look. “Uh, bi, but close enough, yeah.”

“Ah,” Castiel muttered half to himself, wishing he would burst into flames. “That certainly puts things into perspective.”

Dean made a challenging sound. “The hell does that mean, Cas?”

Cas winced, but lifted his chin. He was already quite embarrassed enough. What was a little more? “It seems that I missed the memo.”

“You missed the memo,” Dean repeated blankly. “So all this time, you’ve thought—”

“I thought you were straight, yes.” Maybe the floor would open up and swallow him.

Dean continued to regard him strangely. “So this whole time I’ve been flirting with you…”

“I thought you were joking because you were uncomfortable with my sexuality and trying not to be.” 

“Cas, all my closest friends are queer.”

“Yes, but they’re all women.” It sounded stupid when he said it out loud. “God, I’m an assbutt.”

Dean snorted, sounding a little friendlier. “We’ll leave whatever the hell an assbutt is aside for now. What did you think that kiss was about?”

Was it possible to expire of embarrassment? “I thought that maybe I’d made you question your sexuality. I wasn’t willing to be your experiment.”

At that, Dean barked a genuine laugh. “I mean, yeah, you did, Cas. When I was  _ fourteen _ .” 

“Oh.” Cas managed a tentative smile. “I was twelve.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, laughter subsiding, intrigued. 

“You had really nice freckles.”

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment. Dean bit his lip and Cas’s eyes trained onto it.

“Soooo,” Dean said at last, drawing out the word and favouring Cas with a teasing smile. “Now that we’ve established that you wouldn’t be an experiment—”

“Kiss me again,” Cas interrupted before he could even ask.

The grin stretched wide across Dean’s gorgeous face. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and he did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dean**

It was hard to believe that Cas was a mystery writer—and a successful one at that—and yet had completely failed to get the clue that Dean was into him. But then again, Dean was forced to admit, he wasn’t exactly winning any awards for communication himself. As Cas had pointed out—somewhat breathlessly, as Dean’s teeth had been acquainting themselves with that enticing jawline—jokes about being on the fence or going both ways aside, Dean hadn’t actually mentioned at any point that he was into men as well as women.

Right now, though, Dean could be forgiven if words failed him. Who could blame him, when he had Cas spread out over the ocean blue quilt that covered his sturdy, hand-carved bed, shirtless and hungry eyed as Dean hurried to strip his own t-shirt over his head and crawl over him, letting the forgotten shirt flutter to the floor. 

He barely had time to think about where he wanted to begin, before one of Cas’s hands was hooking in the belt loop of his jeans while the other was spearing into his hair, and he was being yanked in for another searing kiss. Cas kissed without inhibitions, without shame, and with all the intensity of someone who had been wanting this—wanting Dean—more than half his life.

Dean had no complaints. He buried his own hands in Cas’s wild, dark hair, tilted his head to a better angle, and proceeded to ravage his mouth.

They kissed like this, with slick and hungry mouths, bare skin against bare skin, the heat and hardness between their legs pressed together through layers of confining denim, until Cas hooked his ankles around Dean’s legs and rolled them. He pulled away, and Dean let his shoulders fall to the bed, chest heaving and grinning up at Cas where he straddled him, looking dishevelled and awestruck.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean said. “You sexy bastard. Get down here.” He tugged Cas down into another, gentler kiss. “Can’t believe you thought I was straight,” he murmured against Cas’s parted lips.

“Not one of my finer moments, I admit.” Cas pulled back far enough for Dean to see the mirth in his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow. “I could make it up to you, if you’d let me.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, low and teasing. “Just how do you plan to do that?” His fingers smoothed over Cas’s hips and skimmed just below the waistband of his jeans. He briefly entertained a fantasy about smearing some of Cas’s own honey over his delectable collarbone and slowly licking it off. Maybe letting some maple syrup pool in the valley of a hip bone...

“I had thought”—Cas’s hands moved to his own waistband, and he popped the button there, effectively tearing Dean from his daydream to the even more interesting reality before him—“that maybe I could ride you.” He licked his lips.

Dean’s brain was so busy short-circuiting over that excellent suggestion, that he almost missed the hesitation in Cas’s voice as he added, “If, uh, that’s something you’re into, I mean.”

Dean's fingers tightened on the meat of Cas's thighs—he pictured the flex and strain of those muscles as Cas rose above him. "Hell yeah, that's something I'm into. C'mere." He tugged Cas down and rewarded him with a thorough kiss. Satisfied, he nudged him away. "Hurry up and get those off."

"Yes, Dean." 

Dean suppressed a shiver. His name had never sounded as sexy as it did now in Cas's mouth.

Cas rolled off of him and off the side of the bed, landing gracefully on two feet. Shimmying his own jeans off his thighs and kicking them away, Dean watched as Cas dropped his jeans and, with a flash of orange, his underwear too. Dean was left with an uninterrupted view of what was undoubtedly the greatest ass in all existence—and the sudden urge to bite into one of those firm cheeks.

His cock jumped inside the confines of his black boxer briefs, just as Cas turned back to him with a bright smile in his eyes. 

"I think"—Cas got his knees on the bed and swung one leg over so he was straddling Dean's thighs—”that you should take these off, too." The fingers of one hand dipped below Dean's waistband, while the other curled around Dean's fabric-covered cock and gave it a friendly squeeze.

Dean let out a breathless chuckle even as his hips bucked into the warmth of Cas's exploring fist. "Got kind of distracted...by the view there...buddy."

Cas gave Dean one last squeeze before releasing him. "Are you really going to call me 'buddy' in bed?" he asked conversationally, peeling Dean's underwear over his hips.

"Probably, yeah," Dean admitted, lifting his hips to help. His cock sprang free and Cas made an approving noise in his throat, but kept going, drawing the boxers down Dean's legs. "Haven't you ever heard, 'friends are friends, and pals are pals, but buddies sleep together’?" The schoolyard chant came out a little strained.

Cas snorted and dropped Dean's underwear off the end of the bed, crawling back up the length.of his body. "You are ridiculous, Dean Winchester," he said as his hand wrapped once more around Dean's now-bare cock.

Dean didn't even try to silence his groan as Cas's thumb smeared precome over his sensitive head. "Yeah, but you're into it." 

"I'm into you."

"Fuck, Cas." Dean's hands found the flesh of Cas's glorious ass. "You got lube and condoms?"

"Right here." Rather than moving off of him, Cas merely stretched up the length of Dean's body to reach into the nightstand drawer. Dean ended up with a tempting nipple right at eye level and tilted his head back to bite down, prompting a shudder from Cas that Dean felt through his whole body. He gave the little nub a soothing lick before releasing it, letting Cas sit back, prizes in hand.

"Here." Cas tossed Dean the condom packet. "Put that on." He squirted some lube into his own hand before reaching behind himself, thigh muscles straining from holding himself up. "Not that I don't enjoy fingers," he said between ragged breaths, as Dean fumbled the condom out and rolled it on with shaky fingers, "but I don't need it, and I'm impatient today." So saying, he pulled his hand back and shimmied forward until the head of Dean's cock was pressed against his entrance. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

Cas sank down, all tight, bright heat, and Dean's hand groped blindly over his thigh as one or both of them groaned. Dean's other hand tangled in Cas’s dark hair, dragging him down until their mouths were opening against each other's again, kissing slick and frantic as Cas gave an experimental rock and then another and another, and Dean thrust up into him, until they found their rhythm.

The kiss broke eventually, and Cas straightened, bracing himself against Dean's chest with the tips of his fingers. He loomed over Dean like some golden god, like every fantasy Dean had ever had, like awakening and revelation all in one.

Dean thrust up sharply and Cas's head fell back, exposing the line of his throat. Dean's hands curled tightly over Cas's hips, thumbs in the dips of his hip bones.

There would be lazy days in bed with gentle touches. There would be playful caresses and nights teasing each other to orgasm in the darkened waters of Dean's hidden cove. There would be time for all those things and more, but right now, they had found each other after decades of wanting, and they chased their release at an unrelenting pace, until Cas tensed above Dean and moaned his name and spilled hot and wet over his skin. Awed and overwhelmed, and really quite stupidly in love—as he had been since he was sixteen—Dean soon followed him.

*****

**Cas**

Cas slowy drifted back to reality after a mind-blowing orgasm—and why shouldn't it have been? He had certainly been wanting it long enough.

His face was pressed against the warm skin of Dean's shoulder, his body still sprawled over Dean's, though Dean made no complaint about his weight. A hand carded through his hair.

"Mmm," he said, too comfortable in the moment to move.

Dean's chuckle was warm and smooth in his ear. "How you doing there, buddy? I didn't wear you out too much?"

Cas rolled himself onto his side so he could look into Dean's relaxed and smiling face. "Dean. I can take whatever you have to dish out. But you're welcome to try."

Dean broke out into a boyish grin, one that recalled all their years of history together. "I'll hold you to that," he said, and pulled Cas into a kiss.

*****

**Epilogue - Cas**

"Well, isn't this quaint," Meg drawled, glancing around at the half set-up booths inside the Crystal Palace.

"Shut up, she-demon, " Dean retorted lightly, though his attention was more focused on setting up his jars of syrup just so.

"Stop it, both of you," Cas chided. Meg had arrived for a two-week vacation last Sunday, and she and Dean had seemed to immediately decide that mutual antagonism was the way to go, though Cas suspected they enjoyed each other's company anyway. Meg could be thorny and Dean hard-headed, but they had more in common than one might think at first glance. "I like this place."

"I know, Clarence," Meg patted his cheek. "Don't worry, Dean-o," she added, "I may be a city girl, but anything that makes Clarence happy makes me happy, deep inside my little, black heart. Even you."

Cas rolled his eyes as the two of them continued to bicker playfully back and forth, and continued setting out his wares as the first visitors began trickling through the doors into the farmers’ market. He was happy. _Dean_ made him happy, and so did this life, and if he'd needed to learn an important lesson about making assumptions about people just because they were from a small town, well so be it. 

Cas wasn't that twelve year old terrified that his friend would hate him if he found out about his feelings. He'd cringed a little at himself, but he'd admitted where he had been wrong, and he and Dean had worked out their misunderstandings. Now, things were better than ever.

He looked over to where Dean was offering a couple middle-aged women samples of his syrup in tiny paper cups and caught a wink and a grin. He felt his own eyes crinkle in response. 

"Ooh, you've got it bad," Meg cooed in his ear.

Cas chuckled. "You're right, I do."

Just then, a cheery voice rang out in the space, calling, "What's up, bitches?"

Cas turned his head towards the voice, to watch Charlie saunter in, her bright red hair in a new, flattering short cut. 

Dean was still busy with his customers, but Charlie squeezed through the narrow space between the tables to give him a side hug, which he returned, before she turned her attention on Castiel, squeezing him with surprising force for her small stature.

“Hello, Charlie,” he greeted her when she let him go. “Have you met my friend Meg?”

He noted, with mild amusement, the spark of interest in Meg’s eyes behind her assessing gaze—and the reciprocal intrigue in the look Charlie returned.

“Pleasure,” Meg purred through blood-red lips, and Charlie’s smile took on a feline little twist. 

“Uh oh,” Dean’s voice said in his ear as, having made his sale, Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas from behind. “That looks like trouble brewing.”

“If it were anyone else,” Cas murmured back, “I’d warn you that Meg would eat them alive. But somehow, I think Charlie can hold her own.”

"She's small, but she's mighty," Dean agreed. "And just to be clear," he teased, "she's gay as the day is long. Do I need to tell Meg, or d'you think she can figure it out on her own?"

"Har har," Cas muttered back. "You're lucky I like you. Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Never," Dean vowed. "Not letting you go either. Honey”—he pressed a kiss to the side of Cas’s neck—“don't you know I'm stuck on you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Remember to go leave some love on Finniigan's [Art Masterpost](https://finniigan.tumblr.com/post/633206181908955136/my-art-for-the-dcbb-fic-stuck-on-you-by-the), and consider reglogging the tumblr [Masterpost](https://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/post/633227635686883328/stuck-on-you).


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